by Aaron M.

the fawn, flattened, intestines strewn
doesn’t care about the boy, barely of age,
told to pull himself up by the bootstraps,
as he scrapes her sun-baked carcass
off the asphalt, to earn hardly
enough for his gas station pizza lunch,
since they took snap benefits away from
anyone making more than 30k.
because according to the powers,
this boy doesn’t deserve to eat
until they can see the sweat and
blood smears on his cheeks, but even then,
the fawn doesn’t care about that.
it didn’t keep her safe from stumbling
on still-wobbly legs, directly into
two-ton stainless steel screeching,
splattering her brains against the
sidewalk chalk the neighbor kids
had just scribbled out this morning.
the fawn’s last thought wasn’t about
how the powers are already plotting
over her bones— rather, transcending,
in her attempt to cross the street, so enraptured
in light, she never even considered
to fear for her life. the powers
watch as the boy scrapes away the last of the
fawn from the road, smile glinting with
sunlight as the powers pat him on the shoulder.
the boy looks up, and smiles right back.

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About the Author:

Aaron M. (he/they) is a 25-year-old trans-masc artist and poet raised in the Finger Lakes Region of New York, where most of their passion was dug up from the marshes. He currently resides in the hills with his partner and two cats, Moth and Butterfly. He loves reading about and discussing gender, nature, metaphysics, philosophy, and ethics, and hopes to someday inspire the same curiosity in others through his own writing. If you don’t see them roaming the local library, you’ll find them on the ice embracing their new-found love for ice hockey. They can be reached on most platforms as @coffeeajames. Aaron’s favorite apple is a classic Honeycrisp.