For years, my father busied himself
with his knife, as distant deer
passed just beyond his range of vision—
until the day he looked up
with time enough to trade knife
for gun, take aim, and fire,
dropping the deer deep in the woods.
Across the hills, he hollered
to Uncle Bill, who never mocked
the days another wood carving
was all my father had to show
for his day’s hunting—men
for whom hope and ritual
were enough.
My father dragged that deer
to a clearing to gut it, novice fingers
unaware of the need to pinch off
the buck’s esophagus before slicing through.
Strangers rushed to find the hollering man
covered in blood, relieved
to discover the blood was not his.
It would be years before another kill.
Time enough to perfect technique.
His blade sharp and ready.
Bernadette Geyer is the author of The Scabbard of Her Throat (The Word Works) and editor of My Cruel Invention: A Contemporary Poetry Anthology (Meerkat Press). Her writings have appeared in Barrow Street, The Massachusetts Review, Oxford American, and elsewhere. Geyer works as a writer and translator in Berlin, Germany.
Image: “Chew Toy” by Alex J. Tunney
Pine Hills Review 