Bambi

i was taken from you,

so you grew into the thing that killed me.

in a world of deer, there are wolves

that lure you, dressed in sheep's clothing,

pretending to be a friend,

but sheep don’t live in the forest.

fangs pierce the pelt off my back, tearing at the flesh that made you.

the pack takes pride in dragging my carcass.

a red line traces the soil.

i hadn’t yet taught you how to walk this earth,

and it left you stumbling into their territory,

a fawn to this world.

it gives them someone to brand.

this happens all the time—

in a world of deer, some become wolves,

some, like you, fall into their den,

groomed until you become them.

if i was around,

i would have shown you

running brooks secluded by grand white oaks,

sunny flower meadows where ladybugs jump on tiny black noses,

berry bushes covered with the sweetest fruit.

you would have made friends with everyone

if you were still mine,

my little Bambi,

with your downy rear,

hooves made to frolic in forest clearings,

round doe eyes not yet teary,

your velvet pelt with the purest pattern.

you were never meant to grow fangs,

your body born slender and fragile turned jagged.

your tail, unfurled, sweeps on the dirt,

claws that sting the earth as you walk,

eyes slanted thin, glaring at the world,

fur matted, coarse to the touch.

you’ve made this forest

into your personal hunting ground.

white oaks shadow the ground in darkness,

flower meadows muddy with red,

bushes trampled.

it’s quiet,

growls faint in the air,

the sun shines down on a doe,

she stands in a meadow.

she's soft in her movements,

trying not to attract attention.

she went to gather food for her fawn,

daytime should be safer.

but you weave through the trees

circling her,

and you stop,

looking at her through the trees.

doing this will make you a real member of the pack.

you stretch your body low to the ground,

drawing lips over gums,

extending claws.

she hears a twig snap,

her ears perk,

she takes one step back,

and you rush toward her,

lunging.

she tried to flee,

but your claws drew her back to you,

fangs ripping into pastel skin.

a warm blanket coats her

and glazes the earth.

her dark eyes reflect your stained face,

showing what you have become.

it’s hard to be scared of monsters when you are one.

a shuffling in a nearby bush shows her fawn,

lean legs stumbling

as you walk toward him,

paws leaving the prints of his mother behind you,

his eyes glassy in front of you—

this is the cycle of life.

I made this piece because I saw an image of a musk deer, a deer that has "fangs,” on Tik Tok. The caption read: "You were never meant to grow fangs." This gave me the idea to make a poem about how no man is born bad (a wolf). They are born as boys (a fawn/bambi), but life experiences and maybe the loss of a mother figure makes them into the wolves they are.

In the wild

Fruit falls from the tree of my palm,

where wind is built upon the air’s quivering breath

on a girl’s brow.

Cold water up to her knees,

she basks in the sun’s rays of gold.

Charging from behind the shaking bark, quietly stalking

through curtains of grass  

is a tiger perched at the edge of the savannah, waiting.

Listen to the soft hum of feet against the night,

digging craters in the dirt

and leaving with them, a new life—

the earth’s truest prize and greatest secret, 

grander than any man’s pockets.

Live by ‘forever,’

and maybe you’ll really know what happens along

the path of the tree frog.

If we sit still enough,

we become the earth on which beauty is built. 

This short poem started out as each line echoing a response to another piece I found and really liked. Afterwards, I decided to turn the responses I wrote into a piece of it's own. It's about experiencing the many different beauties of nature versus human-made things, like wealth, that don't matter. I wrote this as a way for me to really consider how special the earth is in so many ways that I normally wouldn't think about.

Lake Chavez ‘25

Kiara Benoit ‘26