Through Passing Fawn

I wish I could tell you what happened, Pa.
But my body is still of then. Now, in the car I—TIC
—you don’t notice when I snap my neck, NO
don’t take me back there
where I—where I can’t—I CAN’T
get the words out from my head and SPEAK…

But I notice your hand move the dial up, the speaker
blasts me to now—your perronas. I tell you Pa,
Ma is gonna get mad again, but your nod says enough, I can’t
leave everything behind, I still need my joys. I still hear the ticking,
I want to tell you that it’s always there,
Now—on our slow drive up looking for the deer that do not

want to be seen. Instead, you look. At me. I know. You know
something’s different—wrong. You try to speak
like how I tried to speak, but I stop you—There,
a deer? You turn. I don’t want you to see, Pa.
The beats of the harm, the tics
contort my spine in a shame—I can’t

stop her, Pa. I can’t—I can’t
stop her control of me. Say no, no,
no beats in my mind syncing with the tic, tic,
tic of your turn signal. Now, I can’t speak
—but that’s ok. You and me speak with our bodies. But Pa,
how do I tell you mine has been abused—Then, There

a deer! You say. I snap my neck, Where Pa? Over there,
mijo. Baby blank eyes scared that it can’t
see its visitors—its predators. Fight, Flight, and—Pa,
I was trying to survive—Fawn. No
one remembers the last one. Not speaking—
meant I lived. Counting down the seconds tic, tic,

tic, tic, tic,
tic until she had enough. That’s what happened there—
survival—the fawn runs away. Safe in the rare green. You speak
with your smile and nod, Mijo, you can never
forget, nature always finds a way to heal—beautifully. No
one can ever take that away. With my nod, Pa,

Pa, if I told you I survived, how could you believe?
The passing fawn cannot speak; There is no need for faith
unless doubt stalks. The passing fawn tics, rarely seen.

Sol Lagos is a writer, who will keep trying. You can follow Sol on Instagram here.