Sunday Poem

BOREAL SWING

My mother hunted moose

as a child my grandfather taught her

how to field dress a bull:

make an incision from the throat

to the pelvis

the abdominal cavity emptied

haul him up between two pines

the body inverted

antlers almost grazing

the soil

each hind limb leashed to a trunk above

to allow the flesh to cool

then she’d climb inside

the open chest

fix her toes along the ledge

of two ribs

and with a kick to the bull’s left shoulder

he sent her

swinging

By Liz Howard, from Infinite Citizen of the Shaking Tent (McClelland & Stewart, 2015)