Hiking
Jean-Luc Fontaine In critter-heavy trails, I hike with my brother-- red clay dust coughing upwards, fur-bare rabbits scrambling towards their swales Past the clearing, a deer dragging a smaller deer, their horns locked-- antlers a calculus of bone. In the rut, my brother tells me, the deer duel over food and sometimes catch their horns. My mind scurries back to those moss-green evenings trading fists like tusk-blows with my brother. Food stamps finished for the month. Him and his stash of Tootsie Rolls hidden in the sleeve of his pillow. Our bodies a mess of limbs on the floor as I try to reach a hand deep into his dandruff-colored pillowcase. Often times, my body bruised—curled like a comma as I cried on the floor. After five muddy miles we turn around and slog back down the rocky hillside, and soon we spot the old imprint of our boots, the dust-streaked rocks, the clearing and the two deer bronzed and shiny, laying still in the microwaved horizon. But this time, we approach. The deer still warm, their breathing gentle-- bodies sweatered in flies— so we struggle their horns apart, careful of the scrape of bone on bone. And then we back away. At first, no sounds, but then, the unsteady rising, the sound of teeth chewing grass by our feet. |
|

About the Author: Jean-Luc teaches the arts at a elementary school in the Bronx. Before teaching, he worked a number of odd jobs which include mosquito repellent salesman, ice cream scooper, dishwasher,
janitor, and cheese monger. He enjoys long naps on short train rides and drinking too much
coffee. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Apalachee Review,
Dialogist, Spillway, Stoneboat, and elsewhere.
janitor, and cheese monger. He enjoys long naps on short train rides and drinking too much
coffee. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Naugatuck River Review, Apalachee Review,
Dialogist, Spillway, Stoneboat, and elsewhere.