every year it’s spring

by Sara Caskey

1.       “I looked out my window,” he later told me, “only to see you like a deer in the road.” I was standing on . . . Grace Street before the car horn sounded, and I swear to wear orange vests to protect myself from now . . on. Acting all road kill, soft side up, but shake off my wounded foot. Leave it behind. Order another from . . a third-party seller.

2.      “Like a little deer.” There is nothing I like better than being bloodied, crawling beneath the couch, . . . . . . waiting for some skinning knife to shave my legs.

3.      Afterward, a tie-dyed man sang “Let the Sunshine In” on the corner while I took out the trash. I make so . . much of it.

4.      We’re repeating decades, they say, the Chicago convention, LBJ, LSD, the CIA, you know what I mean. . . . The flowers bloom again. There are Kennedy curses and red spray paint on the walls by the river.

5.       Last weekend I circled the white house, but there was no point in color-coordinating. Our signs turned . . limp in the rain. I was embarrassed.

6.       The cherry blossoms are already falling.

7.       The sun set later that night, and then I was biking by Swan Lake without headlights, my hands around . . some chest, when I looked up to see a white-tailed deer in the grass. I did not presume her innocence.

Photo of Sara Caskey

BIO: Sara Caskey is originally from Rhode Island, but currently lives in Richmond, Virginia. Her creative work is upcoming in Beyond Words Magazine. As a freelancer, she's covered everything from celebrity news to real estate on websites like The List, Glam, Islands.com, and Homes.com.