It was an afternoon Poem by Erik Spinoy

It was an afternoon
of petrified hours
whiter still than bone
I was not

even twelve and something
sunlike rose upwards
threading these hot days
blankly together
therein

I went towards the river
following this rod
to biting trout
till there at once (the colour
of butter, caramel) lay

what in spring had been an elk -
antlers, pelvis and a ribcage.

Once it was all carried to the cabin
in the bundle of my poncho
I let father (when his angry
growl had faded)
kneel next to me
matching
measuring
till the dark
was blackboard black

for hours I had entered
my other world
with him.

Translation: 2010, Gregory Ball