Isle Royale Hunted by Dennis Maulsby

Hidden in undergrowth, curious as death,
yellow eyes watch. Last night surrounded
by the wash, wash, wash of lake water, they loped
through the pinewoods, their shadows feather-drifting
across mossy ground — owl wings riding on whispers.
Opposite the narrow beach, its rocks hot,
green-algaed apples;

a boat is laced to the dock. The brown sugar, tung-oiled
hull lifts and tugs against mooring lines. A bare-chested,
blue-jeaned graybeard works on the cambered teak deck.
Muscles knotted, he furls sails dyed crimson
with Chinese ox-blood. The sun wrings bright spots
out of the water to dance over sail and man.
Scarred medic’s hands become mottled red, slick again
with wound-flowered flesh and fluids. His topaz eyes
remember crawling among the wounded, bodies scattered
in bullet-cut elephant grass, jungle all around.
A ghost soldier’s back arches, flooded lungs
and mouth gush.

A short-legged, wirehaired terrier peers over the bow,
wide black eyes curious marbles. He huffs,
nose wrinkles on and off, thinks big dog thoughts.
His jaws open in a yawn of pink tongue, crenelated teeth.
The dog imagines himself hustling down the island’s
dark, paw-soft paths, scents of wild things songs in his nostrils.

Man and dog sense wolves in their dreams. In jungle
and pines, quick gray-black grinning muzzles seek them.



*Published in The Briarcliff Review, 2010, nominated for a 2011 Pushcart Prize.

Dennis Maulsby’s poems and short stories have appeared in numerous journals and on National Public Radio. His published books include: Near Death/Near Life, Free Fire Zone, Winterset, and The House de Gracie. Maulsby is an associate member of the SFWA and past president of the Iowa Poetry Association.  Website: www.dennismaulsby.com.