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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 10, Number 3, September 2016

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Sneha Sundaram
Jersey City, New Jersey, USA


The Wounded Deer

after the Frida Kahlo painting

The forest is bare, all trunks and sinew. From dust we rise, remember. In calm waters, when lightening strikes an azure sky, the forest lays a branch on my feet. In offering, in protection. As I seek cover for my soul, laid bare before your gaudy gaze.

Soon, very soon, everything will burn. This is why lightning strikes. In indignation at the hunting of an innocent.

And I, hunted and haunted as I am by your words, am not surprised that your arrows pierce my body.

Flesh wounds adding to the invisible scars I carry every day.

My antlers, I grew in defiance, not startled by the viciousness I see.

Shot eight times and one more. The neck hurt me the most.

When you tried to kill my voice.

setting sun
dead oaks still cast
long shadows


Editor's Note: The Wounded Deer by Frida Kahlo may be viewed here.

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