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Leann Marshall

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Tilde--Her Horn
by Leann Marshall → (All Poetry by Leann Marshall)
   Rated "G" by the Author.
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Powder, patch, and ball

She chants what Pop

Taught them all

And makes the trek to

Devil’s Creek--

Enemies to seek

Flush out

Destroy

 

She drops the bag

Upon the ground

Lays low for longer

Than is needed

It is said that

They’ve retreated

And so

She waits

 

Why must they wear red?

She muses, just one more thing

That so confuses

Makes them

Simple to see

Among bare trees

But that’s

Her fortune

 

She wonders then

When Mama will see

The empty rack above the fire

Pop’s old squirrel gun gone

Knows of her desire

The war to be done

Her husband

Her son

 

You’re a girl

Act that way

There is mending and washing

Valuable things you must

Bring to each day

No time for dreaming

No time for play

Things she

Would say

 

She is a girl, it’s true

But what of honor

Darning socks will

Earn her none of that

Canning yams

Will cost her nothing

But an apron soiled with sweat

No honor

No blood

 

There is a rustle

In the scrub

She grabs the bag

‘Tilde—Her Horn”

Measures

Pours the powder down

Lays lead ball upon patch

Uses rod to

Quietly tap them

Down the

Barrel

 

More powder

Next to flint

One eye shut

The other rapt

Did I remember powder

Before ball?..

A movement

A sound

...Cause if I didn’t

The only one to fall

Will likely be me

 

She waits, palms wet

Heart pounds

Belly full of birds

A sound

A movement

They’ll see me and

Have no mercy!

Finger tenses on trigger

Begins to squeeze

But then

She sees

 

A doe

She could kill it

Bring it home

Show Mama

She is able

Brings food

To the table

There is honor

In that

 

She takes aim again

A little to the right

Like Pop said

Pulls wood to shoulder

...Give us this day

Our daily bread,

Forgive us...

An explosion

In her head

The doe is dead

 

But no— As smoke,

The reek of sulfur

Quells the echo from

Her ears

A flash

A frantic dash

There is

No red

Here

 

Stunned,

She rocks back against

A tree

Lets the squirrel gun

Fall upon the leaves

Thank God

She says out loud

Thank God

You got

Away

 

She hoists gun and bag

Upon her shoulder

Heads home

(I will find honor

In whatever I do)

They seem lighter now

Than when she

Took them

This morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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 Reviews of "Tilde--Her Horn"
Reviewed by Lois Christensen
Reviewed on May 13, 2008
Good loading up of words and glad you ended up coming home without the deer. Mother would be proud of you too for doing that, but you tried hard to please her with meat for the table. It just did not work out, but another time another place I say to you.

Reviewed by Jerry Engler
Reviewed on April 12, 2008
Very interesting twist to go back in time like that. I liked the line, belly full of birds, and the description of what it took to load the weapon. Lucky deer and lucky Andrew's limey ancestors that she went home...Jerry

Reviewed by Mary Patterson
Reviewed on March 12, 2008
Great write. It took me there.. I'm glad the doe got away too........M

Reviewed by Regis Auffray
Reviewed on March 10, 2008
Thank you for sharing this story in your poetic mind, Leann. Well done. Love, peace, and best wishes,

Regis

Reviewed by John Leko
Reviewed on March 9, 2008
...well written words...with meaning...perhaps a detailed lesson learned.
excellent Leann...
John

Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on March 8, 2008
A fab story in rhyme..... Powerful, spec when "thank God you got away".....

Reviewed by Felix Perry
Reviewed on March 8, 2008
Well done and a story with not only moral impact but with sharp crisp images and well researched information as to that era in time...

Fee

Reviewed by Paul Berube
Reviewed on March 8, 2008
Leann,

I love the story. A very valuable lesson to be learned. One could say, "Tilde, we are not in Kansas anymore." There isn't any honor or glory in taking a life whether human or animal. Peace, Love and Blessings Always, Paul.

Reviewed on March 7, 2008
Yes indeed many times we shot at the wrong target for the wrong reason, realizing that, made her a hero in my eyes, they both won, the doe and her. Wonderful and alluringly expressed, with much deep meaning, loved it! Jasmin Horst


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