Edward Cody Huddleston
Old Growth
Emerging from the edge of the clearing is a buck, broad in its chest and wide in its stance. Antlers arc up in twisted architectures of bone. Dusk’s last embers reflect in eyes alight with the forest’s oldest fire. You behold the fire and are beholden to it. It beckons you to feel this moment. Its texture. Its heartbeat. Your chest tightens. Your grip on yourself slowly loosens.
hunting story—
his voice lowers
the rifle
About the Author
Edward Cody Huddleston was born in New Jersey and raised in Georgia, where he now works as a radio DJ. His writing, particularly micropoetry and microfiction, has appeared in over 100 publications worldwide and won numerous awards. His debut haiku collection, Wildflowers in a Vase, is available from Red Moon Press. You can visit him online at www.echuddleston.com.
Cody, this poem carries real authority. I like the way the prose moves from the physical presence of the buck into a deeper unease without over-explaining itself. The final ku is beautifully restrained. Its plain -spoken language sharpens the menace, leaves me in that charged, uneasy silence. Fine writing. –Billie
Oooh, Cody, the haiku here just locks this one right in—very fine!