Fawn in the Grass

I have been, all my life,

so afraid.

Afraid to go out,

to go in,

to stay in,

to be gone into.

Frightened of people,

of eyes, of a gaze.

Of a mouth

open toward me,

of teeth, of jaws,

of a word.

The word is 

Fear. I have lain here,

livid with fear.

Feral, mammalian fear:

the deer. 

The dear

infant fawn

curled in the grass,

mother gone.

The dear little one

who waits

to be preyed upon

or prayed over.

What will we do,

oh my hands,

with this dear

in the grass?

(Photo: artist unknown.)