Self-Portrait as a Deer Figurine

Known by the rainbows
I fan across grandmother’s shelf,

I shine against the wooden members
of our menagerie. Split from white pine,
carved and sanded—

if you look closely, you can still see
where hands worked them over.

I began as silica, burned and molded
in Flint. I don’t mind

she bought me cheap.
I get to sit by the windowsill
and watch the woodpecker brave winter.

When the sun sets, her cat chases
my moving refractions,
confusing light for substance.

Someday I will be thrown out to the Atlantic,
shattered for a sea-glass fetish.

I will break against rock
and the sand will scrub me smooth.
No one will recognize my face.