tuesday morning and i’m late again,
speeding down the one-lane country road as if
my life depends on this ride, and it does-
frantic, frantic, frantic;
always rushing, always hurrying.

i didn’t see the baby doe.

i didn’t see her short slender limbs
darting in front of me;
i didn’t see her
soft brown eyes in my headlights or
the expression on her face when
she crossed me so suddenly.


i didn’t know until the horrific
crack-
i ran over something;
i whip around scared-
“what was that?”-
pull off to the side and climb out-
and there’s the baby doe.

brown eyes open wide and afraid,
so soft, so beautiful, so innocent-
breaking my heart, she’s dying-
but in the middle of nowhere with no
people, no cell phone service, no help-
i must save her myself.

but the baby doe is afraid of me,
stands on shaky legs, winces, limps-
hobbles into the woods-away from me-
and dies alone.

afraid of me, she dies;
hiding from her only source of freedom;
salvation.

just as people fear death and darkness and risks-
the unknown-
not knowing where we’ll go or
if we’ll like it-
the baby doe fears what she doesn’t know:
me.

maybe what we fear most is what
frees us.