Cat had her wrists tattooed, antlers.
Antlers in black ink, from her wrists
almost to her elbows.
When I was with her, no tattoos,
but one day she walked out, leaving
me with the rent.
She sent a picture of the wrists, frightening,
and I worried about her for months,
alone in Brooklyn somewhere.
Brooklyn is not an easy place to get along,
unforgiving pavement everywhere, and
spooky graffiti in Bushwick.
If I could, I’d beg her to come back,
but she would never do that. We had a
good thing going for a while.
It tore me up when she left me. She’s
a beauty and I watch for her on the train.
I assume she’s dodging me.
If I could, I’d beg her to come back.
We had a good thing going for a while.
But at least I’ve got my dog.
Philip F. Deaver won the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction resulting in his book Silent Retreats. He teaches at Rollins College inWinter Park, Florida. His poetry book is How Men Pray, out from Anhinga Press. He also edited a book of essays on baseball titled Scoring from Second: Writers on Baseball, from the University of Nebraska Press. His novel in stories Forty Martyrs will be out in November from Burrow Press.