Love Offerings Fom The Mighty Hunte

He has returned from his trip
With the boys. He got lucky
A twelve-pointer, and photographs
Celebrating the kill.

The packages, white paper wrapped
And taped shut, are placed in my hands.
Pink fluids have stained
The corners, stain my palms.

Thanking him with sincerity
I place them in the freezer
Next to trays of frozen ice cubes
And frozen farm-raised carcasses.

He tells me how he'd cook it
So like a man, uncomplicated methods
Involving direct fire
And simple things like onions.

I on the other hand, plan
A sauce made with red wine, a marinade
And fleshy slices of Portobello mushrooms
But I don't let him know of my plans.

And I think of a time, a million
Years ago, when his greater-grandfather
Brought similar gifts
To my greater grandmother

As she sat inside a cave
Nursing the last of her many babes.
And I wonder if afterwards, when
They'd picked their teeth clean with twigs

They lay, with limbs entwined
Beside the fire, and he breathed
Hot and heavy in her ear, and
If she wrapped her thighs around him
And felt as loved as I did then.