Poem: Fumbling Fawn – 28/07/20

I am struggling to rise to my little hooves, 
I am failing to grasp hold of balance,
I am calling, calling, for this ability to visit me,
the skill to be mobile, to be free.
 
For so long, I’ve been unable to properly walk and stride,
how problematic for a soul for whom the desire to explore is so vividly alive!
Alas! I fumble, my extremities dance, not so subtle, nor nimble,
this fawn, I need my mama to guide my hooves,
my awkward legs, they wobble and tremble.
 
I tentatively rise,
she nudges my behind, permits me balance temporarily,
while I sway and sway
and then blindly fall, this time I smile
because it is between fawn and mother,
this clumsy style,
I am dancing my own moves,
and I treasure our routine for this little while.
 
Because Mama and I, she has not much time,
she must set off to forage, to collect for the needs of hers and mine,
she will leave me alone all day
while I manage my practice of walking,
try as I may,

perhaps she’ll not return in time,
perhaps she’ll never return at all,
how can I consider this?
My heart breaks,
my stomach plummets, it falls.
 
But for now, we dance,
she smiles, nudges me left then right,
steps upon my hooves to steady me,
as though a gentle holding of hands,
 
I am one of her truest loves;
Papa is busy leading the herd.
She knows she must leave me again for some time,
she promises to return later,
she nudges my cheek,
licks this warm nose of mine.
 
Oh, how I wish more of our time could
be spent all together,
Mama, Papa,
fawn/baby, mother, and father,
but it is not meant to be so,
we each have our set roles,
and I most certainly will take this challenge,
I will become nimble and learn not to fall.
 
It is essential to stand with my own sets of legs,
because one day, oh God, please don’t say when,
Mama and Papa may suddenly be required to go
and perhaps they shan’t return again,
it's a truth I do not want known.    

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

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