Father & Fawn

It takes ten minutes
for a new born deer to stand,
eight hours to walk.

My father's cancer was a weed, green
creeping buttercup, ragwort and dandelions,
tapped roots on the wrinkles of his brain.

Deer celebrate spring
bleeding velvet from antlers,
bearing stronger horns.

Loss comes packaged when you're younger,
The bad news boys, your dad is dead
the good news, we're getting our first computer.

Children acknowledge
death the way a herd of deer
understands the wind.

I could have spent my
life teaching the wind to deer -
my dad would still be dead.