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