2011-01-27T23:44:37-08:00January 27th, 2011|Nature, Parenthood|

The taste of meat

Today I imagined the hunting trip we’ll take
if he decides
he wants the taste
of meat.

We dress warmly
and tiptoe across
the forest floor.
Our guide whispers
and we see the deer at the same time:
he is calm.

I don’t expect that.
I thought we would startle him first,
a crackle under our feet,
he would begin to run,
the bullet would at least
erase his fear.
But no,
we steal him
from his happiness.
It’s better than a slaughterhouse,
I tell myself.
And then I close
my eyes.

The deer is on his side
eyes open
wide with surprise,
his breath is hot and fast,
his blood is black.

My son and I put our hands
on the deer’s belly.
It shudders
or maybe
that’s me.

I remind my son to say
thank you
but it feels pale and watery,
as though we are at
Auntie Marie’s
and he has been offered
some cake.

We should have said:
I adored you
you were perfect
forgive us.

Go to Top