Pheasant hunt

Some Sacrifice

In summer he struts for his harem of hens.
The birds bow oriental in gray crumbled clay
and pick through the cool buffet corn rows.

He spreads silken plumage in three o’clock sun
and snatches the tokens of next year’s plant life
from late autumn soil till his craw bulges gold.

At last comes the priest, and the prince is pursued,
down behind curtains of scalloped corn leaves.
A spirit arises to release them together—priest
and laughing prince—in the pop of an instant.

Children wear the tail feathers in their hair.
An old woman tries a bite of what launched
from the cool cultivation to lamp-lit communion.

 


																										

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s