Archer
She has always wanted to belong. Now
it looks like she does. Dad offers
a sip of his beer. She giggles, shakes
her head. Heartthrob Rogelio nods,
his dark eyes gleam with admiration. First
time he looks at her like that. Nobody
says the dread words, "for a girl."
The men offer to skin and gut
the deer. She ponders this, accepts.
She still feels the sinew of the bow,
her strong and steady arms, the whistle
and velocity of death. The wounded eyes
film over, lifeless, without accusation.
"Well done," someone says. She wants
to ask back: "Have you ever looked
into the eyes of a deer?" Their calm
and dark acceptance, shy round
innocence with just a hint of question.
And the bold nose. But no words come.
She is in a different league now.
Tomorrow she will be sixteen.
They promise her first taste
of the meat. She feels empty, silenced,
betrayed. No one explained triumph
would feel like this. She remembers
wide surprise in eyes so black that
they could make you weep. The finches
in the juniper have lost their charm.
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Author's Note
This poem recently won in the Cultural Weekly Jack Grapes Poetry Prize and was first published in Cultural Weekly (http://www.culturalweekly.com). I wrote it after last winter's deer population management program in my area (which affected me strongly).
Deserved the win.*
That's pretty much how the killing goes. When I was a boy hunder the only think I liked to kill was a pheasant. I liked to kill pheasants because they were so damned good to eat. Otherwise, no. Nice work.
Reverence with the shock of the kill. Well done, Beate.
Excellent phrasing and insight. I especially like how you've developed this point of view.*
* See? This is what I love about poetry.
This is terrifically well imagined and felt, the ambivalence turning to regret and pain. Glad it's been recognized for its worth.
So very beautiful and sad.
A strong moment:
"She feels empty, silenced,
betrayed. No one explained triumph
would feel like this."
Good poem, Beate.
*
*, Beate. Your well-written verse tells a different "coming of age". She sees the underside: her first death.
" The wounded eyes
film over, lifeless, without accusation."
I can absolutely see why this won a poetry prize. Those judges know what they're doing. Great stuff!
Thank you, my friends, for your awesome comments and faves. They mean a lot to me.
Yes, yes--population management. What a delightful term! *
A unique viewpoint here making for a great poem. Congratulations on the win!
Thank you, Jack and Christian.
Love that last line. And strangely for the first time in the 14 years deer have invaded my property and are eating my espaliered apple trees. So I was reading about the culling. I put some overripe apples by the compost, in hopes they'll leave my trees alone. So this was especially poignant.
"the sinew of the bow", got to me. I've sometimes wondered what it would feel like to bowhunt."the whistle and velocity of death" is an especially good phrase.
Some moments are meant to last.*
Wonderful ending.
Tragically beautiful. *
Thank you, Lucinda, Carol, Tim, Marcus, and Charlotte. I have to confess, sometimes I imagine angels in conference discussing the population management of human beings who are getting out of hand and have no natural enemies.
So beautiful. So, so gorgeous. Damn. *
Thank you, Robert.
Oh. I love it and the ending is the most beautiful part. *
I felt a bit of a jolt at the final line, which is so perfect given the content. My mind considered the ways in which archers gain speed and proficiency, which is by shooting birds. The religious symbolism of the goldfinch is not out of place here, either, given the loss of innocence/coming of age theme. Sparkling. *
Ambitious
The story is so fresh. *
Thank you for your comments, FM Le, Angela, James, and J.A.
* Pretty much sums it up. Felt this way when I shot my first and last squirrel. A rat in a tree but I had no need of him dead and it touched a raw nerve. Very nice turn.
Beate, this is the best poem I've read this year.
Excellent writing, Beate. So good. *
Wow, wonderful comments to come back to after a short power outage. Thank you, Larry, JLD, and Joani.
" Nobody
says the dread words, "for a girl."
Perfect. This tomboy heard that plenty.
A lot to think about with this poem. It's so much more than just a (perhaps temporary - who knows?) disillusion with the killing part of hunting, but the relationships between people and what we value... Nicely done.