[the Writing of Kuypers][JanetKuypers.com][Bio][Poems][Prose]

my father, shooting an animal we sat in our dining room, looking out the sliding glass doors onto the patio, the expanse of concrete that led to the pool, fenced away from the ravine. Father had a dislocated shoulder, his arm was in a sling. He had a friend’s shotgun, some sort of instrument and he looked out the window, sister and I behind him, looking over his shoulder. And then he saw a small squirrel, walking along the edge of the patio, and father opened the sliding glass doors propped his gun over his dislocated shoulder, tried to look through the sight and keep the gun balanced. He usually didn’t use guns, he seldom borrowed them. And here he stood, in his own house, aiming at the animal at the edge of our property, with one good arm. And then he shot. We all looked; the animal, hit, stumbled into a nearby hole. He hit the animal, despite all his trouble, all his pain. People wonder why he shot the animal. I wonder how. Could I do it, even with two good arms. Could I see through the sight, could I aim well, strike. Copyright Janet Kuypers. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission.

(1:57) 06/15/07, at Buffalo Bill’s Grave at Lookout Mountain in Golden, CO Or watch the YouTube video below:

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