Poems of the Mad Hunter
Fear
I fear my grandchildren are beyond
the redemption of the hunt.
Which worries me.
They may never know the primal truths
that hone a soul to be a person –
hard enough but more so when removed from trees
and hills and stream, learning game,
reading sign.
All necessary to being better today than yesterday.
Lessons that can be taken in.
I hunt and fish religiously.
In ways sacred, where knowing and honoring
and deciding in a split-second matter
as the metaphysical realities they are.
Metaphors full of meaning the wilds give
what no cities can. I worry what kind of stories
my grandchildren will tell sitting around a fire.
