"The Deer Come Down From the Mountains" and "Small Stack of Books"

New Poetry from The Metropolitan Review

Gillis Glaesz. d’Hondecoeter, Rocky Landscape with Deer and Goats, 1620s, Oil on panel

We’re pleased to feature two poems from Blake Nelson, a returning voice to The Metropolitan Review. These poems poignantly explore nature, loss, and the way words can matter to us.

—The Editors

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The Deer Come Down from the Mountains

When storms approach, the deer
come down

from the mountains. They stand in
people’s yards, they walk

through the Chevron station.

The deer look childlike and
amateurish, ears twitching

in the public park.

Gangs of them, five or six or seven,
they sniff the air, how do

they know the blizzard is coming?
Who among them

lives long enough to know the path
to safety?

The locals barely notice, avoid hitting
them with their cars.

But I notice, I regard
their intelligence, their forecasting

skills, their trust in the
humans who let them mingle

in their driveways, on main street.
It must be a nuisance, the deer shit,

when they get caught in your fence.
But the inhabitants of this

mountain town understand.
They accommodate the sheltering

animals, as prescribed by the natural
law of these lands.

---

Small Stack of Books

The night my father died
I sat in my office

And looked at the stack
Of books

I had authored, which I had poured
My life’s spirit into, but which

Would mean little to me during
My last hours

Just a stack of objects, one on top
Of another, easily removed

Biodegradable

Family was the one thing you could
Leave behind, which would grow

And prosper without you,
Not the thoughts

You had once, the stories you
Told, your particular point of view

Still, once my father
Was buried, I did not seek out a wife and

Produce the children who would save
Me from oblivion, I kept

Scribbling and typing and building small
Worlds in my mind

Which brought me
Momentary peace, it was all

I was capable of, by habit, by inclination

Now I suspect that either way, the result is
The same, you come into the world
And then pass out again, does the world need
More books or does it need more children?

The turning earth remains neutral
On the question

Blake Nelson previously published a book review in The Metropolitan Review of Nate Lippens’ My Dead Book.