It was only a dream, she thought—
her husband standing naked
in the hallway, a cry from the animal

before it collapsed on the ground,
blood spattering on the Persian rug.
Oh, the cleanup it would need,

and where to dispose of such a large
beast? Was it a moose, an elk
with its palmed horn and pendulous

muzzle, a hanging dewlap shaped
like a bell? It seemed lost, staring
through the darkness. Its large ebony

eyes reflecting light, like her mother’s,
unwavering and brave, or was it
a beckoning for help, a plea for rescue

before the inevitable—the way it paused
and waited like a symbol in a folktale.
Her husband fumbled with a handful

of bullets, aiming his gun and pulling
the trigger. All the while, she wanted
to run to it, caress its body, tug

its soft head close against her
warm breast, tell it to turn, and go
back to the forest.

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