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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4151 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Hide Treezaa (T. E. Ballard) Deer wandered in my father’s store on the backs of men, their tongues dragging as if death had created so much word it swelled and flowed white. Hunters held their dripping heads counted horns, unless it was a doe then they’d stop, spread her legs, talk of tender meat, rest a tired hand on the inside of her thigh. The first time I touched the brown fur of my body, my fingers slipped easily into the folds. I remembered the men, their spotted coats, how a knife removed the last bit of skin, the gentle bend of bone. Soon I would be hunted, the sweet smell on my hands tracked and I would lay like the doe, my eyes open beautiful, almost life-like. |
