Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.
Years ago I heard my first William Stafford poem on the radio program Writer’s Almanac. Garrison Keillor mentioned that Stafford was born in Hutchinson, Kansas in 1914 and I was curious to know more about him. Much to my surprise he had graduated from Liberal High School, my high school, but I don’t remember ever hearing him mentioned. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.
I’ve been looking for the perfect poem of his to share but have been unable to find the one about minnows that I wanted to post. The one linked below is a new one to me, a chance encounter on a dark road.