From Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge, Vol. 11, 1851
Image courtesy of the Biodiversity Heritage Library and the Smithsonian Institute
What could I tell you about the color of bone
or the color inside of bone, that reds begin to look
like yellows with all that white? Fat networks the muscle
like lace, like lattice for the vine to grow. And what
about the back of the eye? The fat there is dark yellow.
My brother chews it raw in the middle of this
grim labor, with relish, with a kind of humor. I look
away as he goes for the tongue. To best reach the tongue
you must go through the back of the severed head.
My work is to saw off the legs. It is key
that all fur be first removed: it catches in the teeth and keeps
them from biting into bone.
Did you cry, brother, when you first approached
this harvested body, this cow elk you shot from the ridge
as it grazed the saddle in the first light of morning
which pierced frost, the ringing of the shot piercing,
well, so many things?
Yes. I know that you did.
Did we cry hot tears as our father stroked
the fur of the body and gave thanks for this spirit?
Of course.
Can I cry now that my brother relishes the raw
fat as he digs for the tongue? No. Time for that
is over. Now is the time for bitter work:
we must pack all the meat we can carry
out of this wilderness.
My brother says he will not partake the flesh of any animal
he did not kill himself.
I cannot stomach to look at how the spine is
split to best reach the heart.