Ritual Enactments

1.     After the Hunt

In the house of the rancher are knives,
narrow blades for skinning,
long knives
for the cutting of steaks.

Red-handed women
hang strands of barbed wire with hides.
Gut piles are steaming.

The sough of the handsaw is chilling
and the whet of steel
later tested for its edge on a thumb.

Girls bring out lunch,
a venison sausage and beer.
I become an adult without knowing.

2.     Confession

There is not much sense
in pissing on a fire when it’s hot

or cutting a fence you must mend,
or crying when caught
by the inevitable.

That much I know.

It’s how I will handle the pain,

how long sustain
silence
in the face of  obsession.

The voice is low
and insistent as it cuts off the beads.

The shutters close.
I empty my pockets of coins
and recount my toes.

3.     Examination

I stand naked
as a tree to be pruned.

The fruit hangs down.
It is heavy with ripeness
and longing.

My toes reach out
and burrow like roots
in the soil.

I suck there food
sufficient
to the next generation.

4.     Daydream

No one remembers my sex.
The frost collects
on bushes and brambles alike.

I suppress a shiver
and huddle
more deeply in myself.

I am a river
that breathes and is flowing
under ice.

I express a shudder
at the guttural baying
of dogs.

I am a log
that will lay itself down
for the fox.

I am a ruin,
root bound,
where the rabbit may crouch.

I am the dam
that protects the beaver
and her young.

And when Spring comes
and I have
again become clear,

I will sing with birds.

5.     Slash Burnings

After the fire, the grass
and the blackened trees
putting out new feelers for peace.

A clear sky glows,
this time not with rainbows,
but sun.

Alone I’ve come
and carry in my pockets such stones
that defy wild fire.

I dig down
and cover them with soil.

New trees will strive
and grow upward toward another fire,

God’s constant light.