The Hunter

The Hunter
(An excerpt from "Valencia: Fresh Squeezed & Uncut")
by Gideon Carlisle
I am twelve years old
hunting with my father
walking in footprints of
enormous boots; The Remington
heavy on my shoulder, sways
back and fourth
awkward in youthful hands.
We do not speak; we listen
to the packing of snow
beneath our feet
to rust covered leaves
Autumn winds
and to the dull scrape
of bone on bark.
The buck,
with ivory crown, hiding
amongst softly swaying poplars
eager to remove the felt
of a youthful summer.
“Shoot him”
my father commands
but I am scared
I am young
and the rifle too unsteady
My father
       the rifle
               the buck.
Felt hanging from antlers
       staining bone with blood.
I fire a shot
       into the poplars
a white tail trails off
over cool powdered hills.
We walk home
my feet trying to keep pace
with father’s enormous stride.
Snow begins to fall
and I cannot make out
his foot prints.
I am alone in the woods
with a useless rifle.

0 thoughts on “The Hunter

  1. Very descriptive! Your created a strong sense of place with your descriptions. Also, you captured the conflict the child was experiencing over have to kill an animal.

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