Zoë Eaton
Venison
Last night
I stepped over 4 men
pulling red silks from
the belly of an elk,
his beautiful body
still steaming on the snow.
Pearled antlers once pressed
through satin pines,
the things he carried
now spilled and trodden
by his silent assailants.
Where is he now?
A pile of surfaces,
trembling skins, dampened
furs, all made weak
by winter gazes
of hunters as they
prepare for their feast of muscle
and salt.
Zoë Eaton is 17 years old and lives in remote Montana. She hopes to do a lot with her life, and she hopes to do it uniquely.
Return to March 2015 Edition
Last night
I stepped over 4 men
pulling red silks from
the belly of an elk,
his beautiful body
still steaming on the snow.
Pearled antlers once pressed
through satin pines,
the things he carried
now spilled and trodden
by his silent assailants.
Where is he now?
A pile of surfaces,
trembling skins, dampened
furs, all made weak
by winter gazes
of hunters as they
prepare for their feast of muscle
and salt.
Zoë Eaton is 17 years old and lives in remote Montana. She hopes to do a lot with her life, and she hopes to do it uniquely.
Return to March 2015 Edition