Candy Canes
TW harm to animals
“I didn’t want to hurt you”
The boy
In hunters orange
The boy
Smelling of acrid sweat
The boy
Blinks his tears away
They freeze on the skin of his cheeks in the cruel wind
And the deer,
Just a fawn
Draws her ragged breath
She screams
Probably for her mother
And
The little deer sounds
so like the boy’s littler baby brother
“I’m sorry. Dad made me do it.”
The deer
Wearing leaf litter and snow
The deer
Smelling of blood and fear
The deer
Each breath she takes, the arrow quivers
He never wanted to shoot her
He doesn’t want to do what comes next
But the deer is suffering, beneath the fragrant pines
And
Even without his father telling him
The boy knows
What he must do.
***
He pulls out his knife
Looks at the fawn’s fur
Matted
Muddied
Maroon
Around the poor thing’s wound
He doesn’t want to do this
He looks to his father
His father
In bright red flannel
His father smelling of tobacco
His father
Beaming with pride
“Get to work son. Don’t be a pussy.”
The dying deer rolls it’s big glassy eyes
And the boy squeezes his own shut
He turns his head
So proud father will not see his
Pussyish tears
Each breath is full of the pine wood smell
It used to be his favorite
And the boy clenches his teeth
And the boy gets to work
***
The tree shimmers in the corner
The whole house smells like pine
It turns the boy’s stomach
But the Angel
At the top of the tree
She is all shining smiles
She holds a banner that reads
“Peace on Earth”
Father is lounging by the wood stove
His feet are up and he’s sipping a beer
Baby brother is asleep
And mother is whistling in the kitchen
It’s a hymn
Hark! The Herald Angels Sing
***
“I’m so proud of my little man! Putting Christmas dinner on the table for us!”
His mother
In her green and red sweater
His mother
Smelling like pumpkin pie
His mother
Beaming with pride
She passes him the tenderloin:
Juices,
From the fawn
Soak into his mashed potatoes.
The boy tries to say thank you
But how can he eat?
His father claps his shoulder
His hand feels so heavy
So strong
The boy pries his own slender fingers apart
The boy picks up his fork
“Great work today son. You deserve the best cut.”
They’re watching him
Waiting for him to take the first bite
And the boy knows
What he must do
***
Dinner is still squirming
In the boy’s stomach
He thinks of fur
And tries not to hurl
He thinks of blood
On the snow
Of crimson red drops
On the purest white ice
***
Mother offers him a treat
For clearing the plates
A candy cane
***
***
***
This is what was stuck in my head while writing:
About the Creator
Sam Spinelli
Trying to make human art the best I can, never Ai!
Help me write better! Critical feedback is welcome :)
reddit.com/u/tasteofhemlock
instagram.com/samspinelli29/
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Comments (9)
Wooohooooo congratulations on your win! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
“Matted Muddied Maroon” Love the staccato imagery! Congrats!!
Oh I love the repetition and how it alerts us which characters you're talking about, without the use of long sentences. What a clever move, also this type of short repetition in the begining makes the tone serious. 'Matted, muddied, maroon.' it breaks my heart to read this, you did such a great job putting us in the shoes of this deer, making us feel for it. And then the mother is also happy about it tut tut tut, and his reward was a candy cane smh. This was a masterpiece 👌👏
Not to share my personal perspective but your poem stands out! It's a great message and a thought-provoking way of describing your point! ✨🤝👏
I'm so grateful to your trigger warning in your subtitle 🥺❤️ I didn't read your poem but I scrolled down slowly so I hope this registers as a read. I read your comment below. I had never thought about people being forced into hunting. Gosh that would destroy them so much!
I loved how you used colors to describe reality. Well done!!
Such a great story, that puts reality into perspective. Excellent poem.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m actually not anti-hunting. And this poem is NOT a criticism of the act of hunting or eating meat. In fact I think hunting for food can be a lot more ethical and environmentally friendly than farming. Personally, I eat meat. I even like the taste of venison and think if I had the time and money I’d probably learn to hunt. Seems like it could be almost spiritual if it’s done with respect. But I’m sympathetic to the truth that some gentle people may feel pressured into hunting by toxic masculinity or even by tradition. And I think it would be terribly sad to push a sensitive, kind hearted animal lover type of kid to go against his nature and harm a living thing. But I’m sure it has happened.
I love how you built the scenes, the contrast, and how you used the colors and the smells, I think it's a wonderful poem!