Eventually they stopped trying to break the ice and haul
its body out, hooves crippled by water damage,
let it lay there beneath the surface
like someone else’s dream,
one in which the waking have no voice.
All along the roads the day after,
more deer showed up in the brush.
Glistening eyes set like black pearls
inside their skulls,
drifting toward the waterway, a dark parade.
In a home next to the river,
a woman arose from sleep and remembered
how all things end.
Meggie Royer is a writer and photographer from the Midwest who is currently majoring in Psychology at Macalester College. Her poems have previously appeared in Words Dance Magazine, The Harpoon Review, Melancholy Hyperbole, and more. She has won national medals for her poetry and a writing portfolio in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards.
My father sexually abused me.
When I got married,
I hyphenated my name.
No one questioned it at the time.
But in the middle of my parents’ late divorce,
everyone wants to know about names.
i was depressed,
and i wanted
to take a
you said you'd join me—
didn't mean i wanted
netflix and chill,
it happened before words came
to tell me how to feel about it
newly connected neurons torn apart
forever firing blanks into the microbiological air