One Blow, One Bite
 

Revision

One Blow, One Bite

I could kill him with one blow
of the shovel gripped in my hand.
He could kill me with a leaping snarl.

The space between us is empty,
no fireflies or June bugs flutter.
An afternoon light grows faint

in the grove acres from home.
Why was I digging? Why did he slip
out of the trees into the small clearing?

We could kill each other in seconds
and nothing will make it mean more
than two packages of meat and bone,

him with two extra flexed legs,
draining each other's blood.
I stare into his yellow-blue eyes.

I have fear but my fear isn't here.
It only contends with shame.
Our two breaths make one clock.



***


One Blow, One Bite

I could kill him with one blow
of the shovel gripped in my hand.
He could kill me with a leaping snarl.

The space between us is empty,
no fireflies or June bugs flutter.
An afternoon light grows faint

in the grove acres from home.
Why was I digging? Why did he slip
out of the trees into the small clearing?

We could kill each other in seconds
and nothing will make it mean more
than two packages of meat and bone,

him with two extra flexed legs,
draining each other's blood.
I stare into his yellow-blue eyes.

I have fear but my fear isn't here.
It only contends with shame.
Our two breaths make one clock.

While the silence is colorful and bright,
we are not graced with wings or fire
when the last of the light leaves for the night.

In case you've already read this it now has a new last stanza.

John,

I’m captured by all of the sounds and nearly so by the sense. “Our two breaths make one clock” is my favorite line and also the imagery of the new last S, but confess I haven’t woven it back to the life-or-death situation of Wolf (big Cat) versus Man that is resolved by them. I need more time with the last S. To my tin ear, the poem is consistently heterometric, which doesn’t detract from sound and sense for me. Other readers may differ. (I’m the last member to discuss meter, but there it is!)

I just realized it doesn’t need the last stanza. It’s the sort of thing I see better after I post a poem.

I’m not home now and am using my phone. I’ll fix it up when I’m home.

I posted a revised version eliminating the last stanza.

Good move. Would you also consider omitting the second and third stanzas? They don't appear to be doing any necessary work, and I think deleting them would leave behind a fine poem. (As a reader, I couldn't see why I should care that there are no fireflies or June bugs, and of course I already know there is space between you.) If that strikes you as too spare, a new title could easily set the scene.

To the extent that this is about a face off of man with nature, I like stanzas two and three for illustrating the variety and vitality of nature that is muted as N faces raw "nature red in tooth and claw."

Roger, thanks for commenting. I'm not sure about cutting 2 & 3. It's a scene and allowing the reader to see the scene seems necessary. That doesn't mean I've done the best job of scene-making and will look at it.

Thanks to you also Ralph. I agree.

John,
This one strikes me as finished. If I were to look for lines to make slightly better, perhaps

He could kill me with a leaping snarl.

I like it but the logic of the sentence says that the snarl is killing the protagonist, when you mean "with" in the sense of "in the process of leaping and snarling."

This line,

draining each other's blood.

strikes me as one that could be made more visceral.

I have fear but my fear isn't here.
It only contends with shame.

I'm trying to wrap my head around why fear contends with shame and how that means that it is not here in the encounter. I haven't quite gotten it. Can you explain?

Be well, Tony

Hi, John. I keep wondering what the animal is and what the central point of the poem is. Is it about the arbitrariness of nature and life and death? If so, then I could see the validity of paring this down to Ss 1, 4, and 5. But it seems that you also want to do more—to make this also an atmospheric narrative. If so, might this be an unnecessarily broad agenda that dilutes the core power of the poem somewhat?

Why does the n not know why he was digging?

and nothing will make it mean more
than two packages of meat and bone,

This really got me with its bald matter-of-factness. I have really known this feeling from time to time, and wondered about it, feeling that there must be more although all the evidence seems to point in the other direction.

I don’t know how two breaths make a clock.

Other than all this, I’d echo Tony’s observations.