Elizabeth Bodien

Hunting Season

She says, "Go cook the food. The hunters are hungry." I put on an apron, prepare the food. Sheet metal sizzles when the meat slaps the oil.  Smells waft around me, animal and char. The hunters emerge from the forest, empty, their noses as keen as those of their dogs. They make straight for the food. The big-eyed dogs salivate under the table, waiting for morsels, dripped bits of juice. And the men, what will they hunt next? 

after the hunt
deer step out slowly
a deep starry sky