Michele Sharpe

Ones & Zeroes

The doe’s belly ripples, then a placental hoof or knee
pokes her skin from inside out. She watches me watch her,

 
browsing for a hand held out with treats, whatever’s tender
or nearby. Re-programmed for curiosity toward humans,

 
she’s unremembered fear. A new machine can write a terabyte
of data every day on five hundred trillion molecules

 
of DNA. That memory will last ten thousand years.
Soon, the deer may see my dog, who never catches them,

 
as one more harmless thing. Is that the sort of bit she passes
down to offspring? Her new fawn rests, wet and dazed, between

 
deep shade and sun. Such tender prey. Let the dogs run.

Michele Sharpe, a poet and essayist, is also a high school dropout, hepatitis C survivor, adoptee, and former trial attorney. She’s written prose most recently for The New York Times, Witness, and The Washington Post. Poems can be found in venues including Rogue Agent, B O D Y, Poet Lore, North American Review, Stirring, and Baltimore Review.

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