Practising his run

my old man killed himself when I was ten
nothing unusual in that
  
stabbed my mothers lover
through his heart, first
then bashed her until
he thought she was dead
  
then ran
  
went bush, we call it
into the mountain forests
in back of where we lived
  
the cops went after him
afraid
because he was crazy
and armed
with a weapon
that makes no noise;
his cross-bow
powerful enough to bring down
a wild boar
at a run
  
again, as these things go
standard stuff
  
I never bothered to learn the full story
‘cos I was ten, and only his loss
mattered
  
last year, forty years old, I got to wondering
about the run
and the chase
  
dug up some old police reports
read the coroners report
  
didn’t realize he was back
on the family land
when they found him
  
slit himself open
neat and tidy
only enough
to do
the job
  
not that it matters
where he died
except that it means
he came back through
the search line
  
through armed men
and dogs
  
unseen
  
in all of that reading
I did find something
that has stayed
with me
  
an explanation
of a walk he and I took
about a year before
all that shit
  
he took a day off
kept me out of school
went
hard walking
our secret, he said
up, into the mountains
with no dogs
sticking to covered ground
and creek beds
  
it never occurred to me
then or after
until now
that he was practicing
his run
  
or that he’d take
  
his son




{back by undeniable request}