The Deer Leg and The Hard Times Are Over

By Abigail Hagler

The Deer Leg

The taupe was the color of any branch
So I thought it was.
But more beautiful than bark.
And then, the black and perfect hoof
And then, the broken bone
Clean and white.

Even this small fraction
Held the beauty of the whole.

Coyote, I think.
One lives in my woods.
Her fur is warm rose sunshine.
A big and lovely girl:
She will end, too.

I hope for all
A breaking leg does not come first.

The Hard Times Are Over

A plain, business envelope arrives in the mail. No return address.

It’s probably an appointment confirmation or a donation plea or an 
announcement of something I am not interested in.  But I opened it.

Dozens of $1000 bills float out.  There is no note.  I am lightheaded.  I will take them to the bank to be checked.

*

In the tired, late afternoon, the doorbell rings.  No time to change the battered tee shirt I am trying to wear out.

A beautiful man is there, smiling.  “Finally.”

“I have first-class tickets to Singapore and reservations at Raffles.  Do
you remember me?  I am Pietro dell’Aria.  We met at Alfredo’s, in Rome. Summer, 1963.  You were with classmates.  I have tried to find you ever since.  How are you?”

I don’t remember his face.  His hands are beautiful.  His voice, too.  He is my age.  His clothes are old and perfect.  I always wanted to stay at Raffles.   Has he noticed the tee shirt yet?  And, then there’s my snoring . . . .

*

One plain day I hear rustling in the back.  A thin kitten is there, watching the wind toss a leaf.  Unafraid, he jumps to my arms and falls asleep.  His bones are feathers.  His heart is faster than I can count. How did he know I was here?

Abigail is a retired physician, not yet a retired writer. She has too many interests to keep up with, but writing always gets done. She lives in the Arizona desert because it is so beautiful.