 |
| by Paula Lietz |
Hunting
A dirt
road through this Christmas tree farm
in
western Polk county.
As good a place as any to find them.
Sage
advice from a father
who
shot rabbits with a bow and arrow.
You stand in the back of the pickup while
I drive.
In his
day he hunted the way Pavarotti sings.
Sticks
and strings, “old school”
was
his method of killing.
The
rabbits pay no mind.
They
see us 50 yards away—
safe
as the words caught in my throat.
A
flutter of wings somewhere behind us—stillness in front.
All
those years come to this.
Will
he wait a moment before the turn in the road?
Steady
eyes crouched by young trees watch.
Fading
light glints floating cottonwood seeds—
each a
fluff of fleeting advice.
It’s
late. Through the dust
I see
the end of the road.
The
sun considers pausing.
Michael
Wynn was born in New Mexico and now lives in
Corvallis. He’s practiced neurology in Salem since 1997. When not seeing
patients or writing he works on a small log cabin in the coast range. Wynn's poems have appeared in The Cortland Review, Journal of the American Medical Association,
and Hektoen International.
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