Sunday, June 25, 2017

July poem of the month

A Hunter Waits

He waits in the cold
with schnapps and a twenty-two rifle
in a wooden look-out tower
on stilts overlooking a clearing,

now the thin winter ice,
as the moon’s face slips across it,
hoping a wild pig or a hungry deer
will be suddenly caught by surprise.

Above the tree-line wine hills
with frozen dried out saps
still clinging to the vine
can feel the sifting wind

as it plucks its way through
the hedgerows.
He warms his body with alcohol
under the weight of the moon

as a deer slithers by
the thin dark trees gnawing
at bark and fallen leaves
and the shallow pools of water

the late winter night forms.
They look through the darkness
knowing that nothing protects them
but the warmth within.

Steven Pelcman
Fourth River magazine USA fall 2011

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