baby deer

we find them grazing on the side
of the highway & pull over.
the deer still have 
their velvet. i know what it was like
to be hungry in front of 
an audience. we pluck leaves.
tell them, "come home with us
& be our children." 
earlier today
in the infusion center
the person on the other side
of the separator from us
talks the whole time about her babies.
you put in ear plugs
but i listen. she says,
"my toddler talks & worms come out."
she says, "i always wanted to graze
on the side of the highway."
i wanted to interject & say,
"i have too." though i know i would not be
a cautious enough deer. i would be
the little road kill angel. 
lay flowers in my ribs. the deer sit
& watch television. we show them
the cartoons we liked as children.
the deer want to go to space camp.
then they want to stay up
watching horror movies. 
their friends come over.
hoof print on the ceiling.
i told you before we picked them up,
"i don't know how to be a body."
i was trying to say,
"i love our children" by which i mean
the ones we don't have. 
do you know what it's like
to want what you don't want?
the deer eat dandelions. the deer learn
how to get the mail. how to make
boxed mac & cheese. they sing
to themselves & then to us.
i go alone to eat leaves by the side
of the highway. i want to know 
who i was before them.
you drive by & find me. we have
no deer. you are worried. you don't know
where i went. i apologize until 
i have antlers. you climb them
& build yourself a tree house there.