In Which I Consider Calling My Step-Father About Fried Venison Bits

Alexis Kruckeberg


I stand with my chef’s knife, too big
for the job, in my adult kitchen

and bisect a hunk of meat. My uncle-
in-law came into the house,

ignored the mess, and told me
to get a Ziploc ready. Bare handed

and bloody we pushed in a piece
of fresh venison too big for the bag,

and filled a second. The dogs
cleaned the floor of fresh

droplets and sniffed his legs
at dried stains. Just thought  

you might like it while it was fresh
and out the door to keep butchering

he went. I’ve let the meat rest
for a half day, and remembered how

to season it, how to dredge it.
Let the blood do the work,

no milk or egg, just fresh meat
and flour and hot oil, just long enough

to brown and for the centers to warm
and if I eat a hair, it’s lucky.


Return to Spring Issue Volume 11.2


Alexis Kruckeberg


Alexis Kruckeberg received her M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Minnesota State University, Mankato. She tends to cook more food than is necessary and daydreams about going back to Mexico. Her poetry has appeared in Into the Void, Qu Literary Magazine, CALYX, and others.