the deer blind, Isabel Flick (September 2026)

the deer blind

i am doing my best to not become 

the deer blind i learned to hate myself in. 

dawn has a way of illuminating 

the ugly violence of a man. 

i am forever trapped in the carvings 

of our names

in the blind’s wood siding.

the cycle ends and repeats again: 

the waiting, 

the cradle of an eye in the scope, 

the finger twitching against the trigger, 

the lifeblood staining the missouri clay, 

the anguished sobs of a mother.

i am at the mercy of your sights

even when death doesn’t wink 

in my direction. 

my fingers hook into your belt loop. 

the hook of me in the eye of you.

a hook in an eye. 

a bullet piercing a buck's eye. 

being tethered to you 

is the only way i know 

the barrel won’t come to take me. 

one of these days, you say 

as your free hand finds my hook, 

i’ll mount your head like a trophy on my wall.

i love you so much. 

i wish i was a vulture 

& you were a crushed deer 

on the roadside. 

i want to pick you apart 

until i make a nest

out of your carcass. 

i want to devour 

your bleeding heart 

until i’m wearing your gore.