Featured Poem 3/17/08


VILLANELLE OF THE HUNT


A river of fur runs through the land.
Red fox leaps high but he dies down low.
If you’ve never been hunted, you can’t understand

how knifes the bullet and clubs the hand:
grin teeth, break bone, strike head the doe:
a river of fur runs through the land.

Great oaks root through our hearts of sand,
red sumac shines from red blood sowed.
If you’ve never been hunted, you can’t understand

how place to hide preserves the band.
Lack that, lack all.  This sight behold:
a river of fur runs through the land.

So quick they turn, the animal clan,
but bullet knows they can be slowed.
If you’ve never been hunted, you can’t understand

how a stone-cold drop of lead commands
this hot flight desperate, death-bestrode.
A river of fur runs through the land.
If you’ve never been hunted, you can’t understand.


—Margaret Benbow

More poems by this author

Previous     Next

Close this window to return to previous page.