Ode: Red Twilight
ask how the phenomenon is
in flared nostrils quiver
tender tongues curious
ears focus flicker
seven scent glands a sensory world
legs front and rear interdigital glands secrete
forty-six volatile compounds
5040 combinations of scents
create the interactive deer herd
members sign individuality
signal presence sex health rutting
sprayed on tree trunks droppings
pressed from foot pads onto autumn mast
farm fields rained grass
mixed with urine and fecal aromas
humans are unknowable in this world
are noise and void and thuds without echo
are shock of thunder out of stormless sky
my black Labrador barks at deer smells
wafting on the evening breeze out of the woods
animals long passed to the creek
stares blankly at deer 100 feet away
unaware they are the animal of scent
for her a live deer is as unreal as a dead deer
she sits on her haunches quietly
watches for a quarter hour
a dead 4-point buck laid on the driveway
expecting it to rise and flee
father field dresses his kill
slitting the doe skin up the midline
cutting out genitals entrails stomach intestines bladder heart lungs
organs not to be consumed he leaves in the woods
crows vulture turkeys racoons red foxes
will eat it within several hours
he clips skin and scent glands off legs
to prevent their chemicals from corrupting meat
a false folk tale according to
Field and Stream
still when hung from the floor joists
above the cellar concrete floor by front legs
enough blood drips from the carcass
to excite our dog
who licks the blackening pools off the floor
getting in father’s way as he flays the deer’s fur coat
he points out the bullet hole in the neck
“we will get two pairs of deer skin gloves”
I and his dog accompany him in his pickup
to the Littleton tannery a day later
the hide stiff from the freezing cold
an assistant at the office tags it
throws it onto a large pile of similar cloaks
getting buried under a snow squall
our nostrils recoil
stench from huge softening water vats
and ammonia alum tanning vats
a seamstress comes into the office
as we leave to pick up finished hides
for $1.50
she will pattern cut and sew into gloves
large size
he butchers muscle and integument and bones
into cuts and roasts
‘fabrication’ is the term we learn
to transform carcass into meat products
in summer cattle school at Texas A&M
then stores them to be frozen in a commercial locker
venison is our primary protein all winter
“I would love a beef steak” mother complains in spring
“even hamburger”
we drive home in winter’s red twilight
expect to see a parcel of white-tails in daily migration
from Meadow River bog to cattle fields on the hill
two fawns freeze by the narrow state highway
hesitate to step in front of our stopped truck
I drive slowly to pass them
they bound for 75 feet alongside
on the gravel shoulder of the road
illuminated by the truck’s running lights
before leaping into the invisibility of the woods
I imagine the fawns as confused as people
staring at zooming lights in the sky
in Spielberg’s movie
“Close Encounters of the Third Kind”
driving the 60 up to Rupert, Erik stops for an accident
3 cars, first in line hit a deer
lying on the blood smeared asphalt unable to stand
twitching, legs jerking
5 men and women stand around the injured animal
“what should we do?”
they repeat
“what should we do?”
“end the deer’s suffering,” he says
returning to his truck to get a hunting knife
he sits by the big doe lifting its head into his lap
draws the blade deeply across its neck
holds it while it bleeds and dies
he drags the body off the road
ask again how phenomenon is
the incalculable springing out of viscera blood and bone
the base earth and stone of existence
we are world-intruders
deer witness the sudden glimmering
gathered by the microsaccades of their large eyes
fixed on the light
our presence the terrible luminosity
of their astonishment
Ron Tobey grew up in north New Hampshire, USA, and attended the University of New Hampshire, Durham. He lives in West Virginia, where he and his wife raise cattle and keep goats and horses. He is an imagist poet, writing haiku, storytelling poems, spokenpoetry, and producing videopoetry. He has published poems in several dozen literary journals. His Twitter handle is @Turin54024117