I brought her flowers and a sympathy card.

She tried to give me two duck decoy lamps

and an umbrella stand made of deer legs.

“Help me take these dead things off the wall,” she said.

A ten pound bass, a rack of deer antlers,

a moose head that stared at me

through onyx billiards.

She swiped her finger through clean checkered squares

telling me of hunting trips

while she raised four girls at home,

feeding construction crews

brought home without notice,

being taught to drive the lawn mower, but not the car.

She started to cry

then kicked at the moose head.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She tried to give me advice and I took that.

“Sixty-three years is a long time to be owned,” she said.