Poem titled "Rural Devotion" by Emma Johnson. On a soft pinky beige background, a hunter in the bottom right hand corner points his riffle up at the sky, missing the buck standing in front of him. Birds fly above, (the hunter might be aiming at one of them" and leaves fall even further up the page. Poem reads: "Each year in the fall, we watch the stags race the highways. Blinded by desire, fueled by fear. My dad tells stories of them, Ones that paced through our yard With no grasp of my father, A man quite handy with a rifle, Or of our dog who craves the chase. Stories of how he’s cleaned up accidents after they’ve dived into the roads, Of the gore and the depth behind their eyes. Martyrs of their biology. Somehow, they don’t fear death; the car, my father. Time passes, the leaves melt into auburn, and I find myself fearing the desire to press my fingers into the soft bend of your arm. Rut begins, then follows hunting season And I do fear the cars, my father. The seasons change and I am alone, Chasing after you under rural streetlights, Dodging cars and forgetting man. Laughter chasing the breeze through my hair. Maybe I follow the path straight to the end And I find you there, on a sunny and cool fall morning. Maybe you watch me burst through the treeline,