Upswing
By Tiare Devenot
Yesterday, in old barn
painted Falun red
I watched a elk lose his skin
by hand and knife. Limp and large it laid
on silver trailer, too small. The large hooves tangled
a foot from the gate, clumsy like a child.
It was only the second time I encountered this creature.
The first was in passing, by car—
a solitaire being in a field of yellow raps. Unnatural, but perfect,
aside the black, streaking freeway.
I remember a dark speck,
small hole
in yellow.
This time, I watched
a knife burrow under soft skin by the ankle, pulled
up to cut the coat like fabric. No blood left, as it lifted
as easily as a mask, as if made to come undone.
Another,
a body near twice the size,
hung naked from the rafters,
by ankles in iron cuffs and chains.
A body, frozen, carved
like marble—
skin under skin white,
veins cobalt and Falun red.
Her great mask, laid empty on a nearby bank,
A dark hole in the emerald grass.
A collie chewed ruby bits of her from a distance.
I turned with my stomach as weathered hunters
spun a wheel to pull the now shackled
calf alongside his mother—
Two chosen,
together,
once more.
In life and
death, we suffer
for fields of yellow raps.
Perhaps,
life leaves
as easy
as skin left for the dogs.
