my first try I made a hit it dropped from morning gray the smallest shadow both wings slipped inward mid-
flight the man barked Now I shot again and again a third time with each arrow through the target I thought 
was it luck or was it skill luck or skill as the last one fell

its awkward shape made me run there pulsing on the ground I was astounded by its size a gangly white goose 
throbbed heaved its head my eyes dropped blood flowers opened in the snow of its neck behind my shoulder 
stepping down from a yellow bus

children made their way across the field I shot once more to end it quickly close range its death did I do this to 
spare the bird from suffering or to spare the children the sight my motives in humid cold yes my knuckles in 
the cold steamed bright red

because on my stomach in grass in rubber boots pockets and vest I slid along with that hunter I did as he 
directed from quiver my draw my black lashes in steely eyed release it felt good there it felt strong my breath in 
autumn was an animal there I thought did I really do this       did I really yet what difference is muscle is an 
arrow powered upward or any flight to center when I did not hear it though I clearly mouthed poor thing poor 
thing poor thing

Copyright Credit: Layli Long Soldier, “Talent” from Whereas. Copyright © by Layli Long Soldier. Used with the permission of Graywolf Press.