A deer hops over the fence
(which is now a foot higher than it was last year)
into the back yard. A doe, not too old
or too hungry, by the look of her.
She does not look through the windows.
There are a few flowers left.
My mother says to the guests:
well, there you have it.
I told you we live in suburbia,
but we also live in a zoo!
The kids press their soft,
dry noses to the windows,
their laughter evaporating
from the glass.
Yes,
she says, quietly.
and the price for admission
is that we feed them our gardens.
More giggles and orange juice.
I wonder to whom
I have fed my gardens.
To whom I have given love and patience
without being asked or thanked,
and felt richer for it.
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