Slide down the banaster backwards

i dreamt i made eye contact with a huge buck.
it was in our front yard, perched between the magnolia tree and the window.
i pointed to my mother, her right leg lobbed over her left the egg nog in her hand
i pointed to my sister, her hands on a plate of cookies her mouth gobbling up conversation.
I was in awe of him, such grace, such poise. he was as silent as the first snow fall, his nose tickled by the smell of our merry making.
i gasped. the spectacle of the beast at our beheast, silouteed elegance before a charcol sky.
but before i could put synaps to thought
it galloped at me, rabid red eyes roaring
it stretched its barrel chest like a mustang and crashed through our picture window.
glass in my teeth.
hind legs and course hair rustling my elbows.
the noise of this thing louder than a broken carborator.
the nerve of him slamming into our house on the holidays.
his hooves hollow drumming in the hallway.
the china didn't shimmey, it's prismatic permanence in our house steadfast.
we head it making laps around the kitchen and dinning room.
or i heard it. between the taste of sandy grits in my teeth and the faintest drop of blood on my mothers carpet, i lost my sister and mother.
i called for my father, and could imagine him toying in his office downstairs.
i called for the buck, hoping he was from the area; that he would understand my accent with a swollen tounge.
i opened the front door, my stomach chruning with the onslaught of perhaps more.
he trotted past me and carefully took the front steps one at a time.
i had hoped he would slide down the banaster backwards or skate across the icy driveway.

the i heard the flutter and squeal from the
pair of pigeons in our air conditioner and woke up.



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