The Hunter

The sorrow of my childhood
Was the thoughtless killing of a little bird
Well dressed and educated as a boy
Deprived of nothing
Going to music lessons
and acting in plays.
Selecting a city skyline
for my oil painting theme
Then holding a rifle
in my boyish arms
Joining a friend to hike like woodsmen
On a Connecticut trail
Surrounded by the lush greenery of the Berkshire Hills
The unspoken truth of not deserving this paradise
An empty guarantee of perpetual entitlement
with juvenile perceptions
Responding to the wild energy around me
The aroma of earthy life
and the innocent joy of a little bird
Its pulse in full throat serenade
Revealing its beauty to the radiant sun
My rifle pointing at its fluorescent plumage
and in a flash
My guilt consumes me
The ground trembling
Under the weight of my shame

Ted Goodell
April 18, 2018

One thought on “The Hunter

  1. I love this poem. I’m right there with you in that moment and then the dreadful knowing of that never ending shame and sorrow.


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