It’s all soft edges and soil smells.
Stifled breath and tense motion.
Then a spark, unawares, coming to rest on a piece of birchbark.
Slowly rising in intensity, your father with his hand on your shoulder.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Close your eyes.
And then it shatters.
Two kicks and then ground, hushed laughter and whiskey breath.
Your father’s pistol, a single shot, then stillness.
Your first taste of beer, pale and watery and awkward against the fire.
And then the car the next day, riding in back with her, you can’t help but stare.
You can’t help but fall in love a little.
We all wish it could’ve happened some other way.
Congratulations on leaving the woods.
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