Traveling Through The Dark

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason--
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all--my only swerving--,
then pushed her over the edge into the river.

by William Stafford

Comments (18)

Bad poem, I agree with older dankboi, it can suck dic
Just terrible, worst poem I ever read.
It sucked my dic. That is how bad it was
Amazing poem I love it
Someone online, I thought it here at Poem Hunter, remarked that the whole premise of the poem is false, because, he wrote, the unborn deer lay in its mother dead more than three hours. Stafford didn't say that in the poem: he said a recent kill, and that may mean very recent; the deer was still warm! You stand corrected, whomever you are. Nick Campbell
See More