The Hunt
- May 24, 2024
- 1 min read
by Lorrie Ness
Kneeling in frost, I mistook steam rising off the innards
for the deer’s soul fogging his face. He wiped his knife down the side of his jeans,
taught me that the field was for dressing, the shed out back was for hanging. With a one-fingered
shove, deer pendulumed from the rafters — meat softening with age. I walk alone through the year’s
first snow, unzip my coat with the same motion as his blade slitting belly to breast, disrobing
the buck of its hide. I force my fleece apart, steam lifts from my chest. There is only a beating
of raven’s wings.
Lorrie Ness is a poet in Virginia whose work can be found in numerous journals, including Turtle Island Quarterly, THRUSH, Palette Poetry, trampset and Sky Island Journal. She was nominated for multiple Best of the Net and Pushcart Prizes. Her collections, Heritage & Other Pseudonyms (2024) and Anatomy of a Wound (2021) were published by Flowstone press. More at https://www.lorrieness.com/
