Arrow Pointing North
David Dodd Lee
THE WEDGE
In a wide, white room, I’ve been refusing to cooperate
It’s true
But yesterday, Monday, I spent the morning logging in deer-kill data
At the fish hatchery
A single orange leaf floats over the ice-blue pond . . .
A little fur the color of rust
Coming away bright on my fingers—the animals’ lips pried
Making them look as if they may begin screaming