Pheasant flying from the sage. <br />My mind was wandering when I shot. <br />I think I apologized to you <br />when the dog carried <br />your flaming, iridescent body <br />to my hand. <br />I felt your feathered warmth. <br /> <br />The same warmth the coyote was <br />feeling when I jumped her <br />sunning in a sheltered bed of weeds. <br />My dog barely acknowledged her <br />dying existence, her grinding jaws. <br />I didn’t really mean to kill her. <br />I just wanted to send a message that <br />she needed to be more watchful, wary. <br />But, she died, but she died. <br /> <br />I could go on… <br /> <br />The buck dragging his broken back <br />through the low sage, crying, crawling, dying. <br />I cried, I apologized as I cut his throat, I wept <br />as I dragged his damaged body to the truck. <br /> <br />Sage grouse, chukar partridge, and Hungarian partridge. <br /> <br />For every life I’ve taken, <br />to all of you <br />terrified, torn from the air, <br />b.b.s breaking hollow bones, tearing flesh, <br />feathers floating, falling <br />smashed into the ground, <br />their blood soaking <br />the desert dust <br /> <br />I’m sorry, I truly am. <br />------------------------- <br />02/26/06<br /><br />Sean Woods<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/field-hunter-lament/
