The Giving Tree
I admire how quickly his
folding knife opens as if it,
too, wants to shoo away the flies,
now separating deer hide
from flesh like the work of a
letter-opener through third-party
mail. His blade carves around a ham
that dangles by bloodstained rope, its
support threaded into the space
where tendon meets bone, then through
its loop end before wrapping
back over a leg stump, all
a mastered craft handed to him
from his father, imported by
way of Coahuila, Mexico.
Cool flesh falls into coolers and
chained dogs howl, wondering whether
they will eat from unwanted scraps
of neck meat, not knowing that
he will help the sun shine one more
time for the hungry of Del Rio.
Author’s note: An everyday observation of the Texas hunting culture and its provisions for those in need.
“If you cannot feed a hundred people, then feed just one”
This poem is published through Wild Words, a weekly newsletter that delivers one new poem, once a week – nothing more, nothing less. I often write on themes of nature, beauty, and culture, and regionally locate my writings in Texas and throughout Latin America. The stylistic hallmarks of my poetry are rooted in adventure, nostalgia, wanderlust, discovery, and everyday life. You can subscribe below.
