The Bull Elk by Ken Tomaro

 

Image / Steve Burcham

The Bull Elk

I wish I could tell you of the exact moment my father sat me down and said, 

“Son, here are a few things that will help you throughout life…”

I wish it were on the tip of my tongue, a memory, or a distant memory, or even a fleeting memory just hanging on, but it never happened. He was only a ghost of my childhood, dead by the time I was two. Our loving family did their best to ensure he never existed in my eyes. In my memories. In my dreams.

The kids in the neighborhood taught me how to play baseball. I was never any good. They tried to teach me how to throw a football but it was way to big to hold between my small fingers. No one taught me how to fight or defend myself so I hid around corners or in the back of the room to blend in. And certainly no one taught me about girls and sex. They probably assumed neither of  these things would be part of my life but I suspect no one, even the adults knew any more about the two than I did.

I am staring at a photo on my laptop at work. There is an older, bull elk standing in a clearing under a massive pine tree. Alone. 

Underneath the pine tree are two large rocks, easily as big as a car. The background is blurred but I can make out a forest of trees, so large the moose is the size of a fly buzzing around a planet. An insignificant speck spectacularly unnoticed but still very much important. 

Its eyes have a lost sadness to them, mouth open in such a way that it looks like he is calling out. A grown son calling for his father. The perfect photo capturing the beauty and expansiveness of nature and sadness of loss and death.

I want very much to stand in front of this towering elk with my hand stroking the fur on his head, the way a father might comfort his son and tell him,

“There’s no denying you got screwed in life. But you’re not as alone as you think and I just want you to take a moment and look around at how far you have come all on your own.”

Maybe it would do some good. Maybe it wouldn’t but we all need someone in our lives to tell us anyway.

© Ken Tomaro

Ken Tomaro

Ken Tomaro is a writer living in Cleveland, Ohio, whose work reflects everyday life with depression. His poetry has appeared in several online and print journals, exploring the common themes we all experience in life. Sometimes blunt, often dark, but always grounded in reality.

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