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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “the Curve of Arctic Air” cc&d (v253) (the Jan./Feb. 2015 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book Salvation (issues edition) the cc&d Jan. - June 2015 collection book		get the 318 page Jan. - June 2015 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

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To My Third Grandchild

David James

Friday, I drive an hour and a half
to my parents’ farm, 34 degrees
on the first day of spring.
As snow melts, dead deer
appear along the shoulder and median.


I count four carcasses
on the drive there.
The deer bodies, broken,
decaying under eighty inches of snow,
slowly float up into sunlight.


I’m going home to carry clothes,
luggage, boxes, bags up to the attic.
Mom can’t do the stairs anymore;
Dad’s losing weight and muscle—
his heart nods off to sleep.


In the attic, I find eleven pairs of my Dad’s boots.
Behind the door of the guest room, he has thirteen pairs
of new and never worn slacks.
In the garage, six socket sets
and five packages of wrenches, unopened.
“They were on sale,” he tells me.


On the drive home, I count nine more deer carcasses
scattered on the side of the road, a few legs stuck up,
some bodies half eaten, some ripped open.
At dusk, it looks like the dead pushing out
from the wet and warming ground.


And that’s when I think of your beautiful tiny face,
those little fingers, lips that quiver,
and come September, the smile I’ll have
when I kiss your red cheeks
once
you’re born.

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