Pocketwatch

SARAH GZEMSKI

Spooked whitetail doe, young buck

couple paces back, they’re knee-deep

in the marsh, they’re knee-deep in gold

plated sky. Dig with your fingernails

at the years stuck in the grooves behind 

their erect ears, watch your fingerprints 

stick to the smoothness of their bodies

then wipe them away. Tiny duck 

at the edge has to be a Mallard, all

the ducks on the things your father owned

were Mallard, you know it would squawk

at you if you could get any closer. You

value the consistency. These things

are static. Inside, the hands tick fixed,

holding each other back.

SARAH GZEMSKI is currently working toward her MFA in Poetry at New Mexico State University. Some of her other work has appeared in Emerge Literary Journal. Originally from Pennsylvania, forests continue to invade her desert poetry. 

The Adirondack Review

FALL 2014