Twice Stuffed Moose Illustration.jpg
Twice Stuffed Moose Illustration.jpg

Anecdote of the Twice Stuffed Moose


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Anecdote of the Twice Stuffed Moose


 

Anecdote of the Twice Stuffed Moose

The moose noses open the refrigerator, gorges on pickles and raw meat, beer and condiments. Inside the refrigerator hangs a picture of another well-stocked refrigerator. The moose eats it as well. Stuffed. Stretched taut, the stitched seam holding together the moose’s stomach pops and onto the floor spill his animating innards, all violence and tomorrows. A picture of a forest stream, clear and deep. A picture of a field in fog, and in the fog the outline of a moose. Himself. He strikes at the pictures with his hooves, smashing the framed glass, puncturing the images, cracking the frames. The certainty of the hunter. Spent, the moose collapses, strikes his head on the kitchen counter, jars loose from its socket a glass eyeball. Spinning beneath the refrigerator, the eyeball knows at once it will be comfortable here, in this new, so familiar darkness.  

 

BIOGRAPHY

 
 


 

David Brennan


David Brennan


 
David Brennan

David Brennan's recent poems and essays have appeared in Coldfront, Atticus Review, Heavy Feather Review, Box of Jars, and elsewhere. He lives and farms in Virginia. 

 

ISSUE FIVE