Give us this day
to bring down a deer,
to splinter that target,
to rend living flesh,
we pray to you.
Quiet voices from cabinets,
locked in the basement,
in the back hall, under
the sink. Buried in boxes
with so many anonymous
bodies waiting for resurrection.
Souls waiting for bodies
to give them purpose, bullets
cry out impatiently
for guns sitting on the rack,
in the locked safe, being cleaned
on the kitchen table, in the garage.
Guns warmed by hands, stroking
their shafts, itching for the trigger.
Guns crooning quietly, Take me
with you, strap me on, put me
in the truck. Give us this day
full of purpose, body and soul,
hunting truth in deadly earnest.