The Deer Woman in December

Let me tell you where the human in me ends.
Below my ankles it's all deer. No one
looks so low, and for that, they're done
for. I mine my men this way, all condemned.

"Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
draw from the deer." Once, I wrote and confessed
Noli Me Tangere around my neck
until I gifted it to you, as the hind

in me gave out. That if I cannot have you,
your hands on me, again. That if a closer
look revealed the hooves. I could never win.

Your touch was all it took. Nothing to do
but now move on. No use aching over
something there that never did begin.


--Hannah Sanghee Park