For Justin...

As much as I love to write poetry, I've had a hard time writing "love" poems to Justin.  We've been married 14 years and my feelings for him run deep, in a good way.  I have plenty of poems about my kids but not so much for him.  "Intestinal" developed from a writing prompt about taking something gross in nature and "turning" it into a thing of beauty.  As I wrote, it became a love poem of sorts for Justin.  Strange, but it works...I'm also on a weird little mission to be published in a hunting magazine.  I figure they need a dose of poetry and might appreciate this one.  So, here is "Intestinal", with love for Justin:).

Intestinal

Jerking

my dog back from throwing

herself into the steaming pile of

deer guts, I gaze at meat freshly

extracted from my husband’s latest kill.

I’ve never liked the aftermath of hunting—

furry brown piles held-up by

hoofs and broken antlers—

metallic smells

soaking into my skin,

bloody messiness

staining my driveway, streams of

red racing to the gutter.

In the sunlight, the intestines

take on a rosy,

healthy glow.  My husband

basks in the thrill of

providing food.  Shadows of

ancient ancestors dancing at his feet,

stomping their pride.  Sounds of satisfaction

reverberating off cool stone walls.

Looking closely, I can

picture the deer’s intestines

working; digesting

grass, root, thistle,

keeping the magnificent creature alive.

Softly stepping out from dappled aspens, 

exposed now,

shaking his antlers blanketed by velvet.

Snapping alert, his ears pointing towards

unknown noise.  Jumping

across the meadow,

his pumping

intestines creating substance for us,

family of the hunter, giving

our intestines work to do,

keeping us alive.

Well, since I'm talking about deer.  Justin is on the right, my brother Dave is on the left.   I was seeing a nutritionist at the time who was delighted I was eating game because it was so healthy:).