Midwest

Paging through the album, I stop at a photo of a dark-haired, bespectacled 50-year old
wearing an orange hat and brown flannel shirt, suspenders resting off his
shoulders and to the side. His blaze-orange pants are unbuttoned at the waist
and stained with blood.

He stands with two other hunters and they smile in front of
three deer hanging from a tall oak tree, brown leaves covering their November
hunting ground. Deer tongues are sticking out and their necks are stretched
upward like a branch. His trophy 8-pointer hangs by a rope tied over the
antlers. I walk to that tree and remember, dare I say portal those soggy boots,
that unshaven chin, that stern visage, that wry smile.