Moose

In the wilderness, the moose towers over bears, wolves and other deer.

In the wilderness of alleys and under bridges, desperate humans huddle, pass needles to ease their yearnings and their pain.

In the wilderness, the moose prefers non-needled trees, scoops for leaves with moist and prehensile lips.

In the wilderness of angry homes, humans tangle with words, painful innuendoes, stinging slaps, rage hot and orange.

In the wilderness, the moose, antlered with velvet, slips through dense forests, tangled trees and branches, moist nose open to the scents of water, food under snow, to mates.

In the wilderness of board rooms towering the city, humans with fists clutch their plenty, dream of opulent and sunny vacations.

In the wilderness, the hungry predator stalks with the power of his hunger and his pack while the sharp and deadly hooves the moose can kick and swing in all directions afford him safety.

In the wilderness, the moose searches for minerals, licks the salted winter highways, stops traffic.

In the wilderness, flights are delayed, travellers stay inside while the moose wanders on the tarmac and ambles through the parking lot.

 

Fran Turner

Fran Turner grew up on a farm in southern Ontario but she finds herself more at home in Toronto where she has lived most of her adult life. She has worked in nursing, cancer projects, and has taught at her own Aikido Dojo. She’s had stories published in Dodging the Rain, Adelaide Review and Ekphrastic Review.