Constructing a Museum
It was such a good year
I wanted the same year to go on forever.
But it didn’t. Instead
I held onto the jawbone
of a deer whose severed head
shrank to white in a hollow of trees,
discarded by a hunter
who had no use for the jowl.
Ticking maggots picked clean
the flesh until they crawled away
across the hard teeth.
The new year sees that mandible
on my desk and reminds me
of the time we found it.
Late afternoon after a few hours
of barflying. Commenting
on how the color of leaves
can change sudden as a temper.
We were debating which path
to take through the woods,
which bar to continue on at.
Then we found it. Right at your feet.
We were both shocked
and gasped softly like we might do
reading some breaking news alone—
O. But that’s not important.
I could already feel the loneliness in me
and the new experiences
that waited for you—
immediately and without me—
and the urgent need to fashion
a museum from the little light
that remained. From the acorns
that dropped off the burr oaks
and persisted through winter.