"Elk Season" by H.V. Patterson

You do not see them fall from space
but you feel them seep into your bones,
honeycomb you to hollowness,
make you nesting ground,
brood chamber
 
Staggering, nerves marionette strings,
puppeteered by your devourers,
your roaming body deteriorates,
an elliptical decaying orbit, moon
falling to earth
 
You stare into the merciless night
beholding only your own ending
as they feast on your eyes,
you bugle until they eat your
silken tongue
 
When you cross the hunter’s path,
seven-point antlers framing your decay,
death leaks from your hollowed hide
ravenous young reach
into him
 
Tasting the death of stars,
he drops his gun
and falls to his knees
before you, harbinger
of annihilating
invasion

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H.V. Patterson is a speculative poet, fiction writer, and playwright living in Oklahoma. Poetry credits include ETTT, Star*Line, Dwarf Stars, Haven Speculative, and Brave New Weird. She is a big fan of elk and loves watching them (from a respectable distance) and listening to the haunting sound of bugling. You can find her on BlueSky: @hvpatterson, Instagram: @hvpattersonwriter, or hvpatterson.com

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