Venison

Please note this poem was originally published by Wingless Dreamer in their 2021, Praised By December anthology. See the book and order your copy, here.

“Wish me luck,” he sing-songs

As a verbal talisman, or maybe prayer

“I’m rooting for the deer,” I call after him

As he makes his way out the door
In the cold winter-near air

Of the mountains
A scent or sound arises

The reverberation of twigs underfoot

The realization a nanosecond too late

An arrow aimed with great precision

Is let to cut through the sky

I stroke his coarse gray fur

His body lies on a deathbed of grass

Dried leaves create a brittle shroud

Blanketing the earth below

I feel the tears welling in my eyes
Just before they breech the dam of my eyelids

And spill over my blazing cheeks

I solemnly apologize to him

I grieve deeply for him

I will not eat his meat

His head hangs over our bed
Memorialized, immortal in death

What have we taken from this world

What have we done to it
In the last act of this bittersweet story

His body is returned to the earth in

Gratefulness

Sacrifice

Atonement