Artemis II

After the rape,
a desire to go back
to being a deer.

Ribcage like a motorcycle
engine, random foreleg
heaped to the side

of the woodpath
in the sueded snow.
It’s a myth

that they’re sexless.
As whore as any wild
creature, all ankle

to the withers.
Hemlock skirts blow high,
a forest of Marilyns.

If she hadn’t passed
through trees by day,
she wouldn’t see green

by moonlight.
It was the winter solstice.
Her mother couldn’t get up

the icy driveway.
Along the road,
every flick-tailed

deer a daughter.
The night bled resin,
her shame in amber.