First Hunt

Silence.
Not a single sound–
all is lost if feet hit ground.

Stalking prey. Tomorrow’s feast.
Patience now. Slay the beast.

There’s hunger in the homes
and they’re counting on me,
a novice in the wood line
with cold metal in my hand,
learning the only language
that survival understands.

Listen–I hear it breathing.
Nothing profound about the sound,
just the rise and fall of something
that doesn’t know I’m here.

Creeping closer. Heart hammering.
First hunt for me.
Could be my last.

Claws slice the air–
hunter and hunted,
both unaware
how close the other came
to being the one
that didn’t walk away.

Shot aims true.
Survival instinct.
If we will live,
it’s what I must do.

Forgive me.
Your life or mine,
the hunt is needed
to secure my line.

Nourish many
at the cost of one.
Sleep uneasy.
What’s done is done.