Rifle

My dad often spoke of my grandfather’s hunting rifle,but I never saw my grandfather’s actual appearance in my dreamsBy the time I was born, my grandfather had long since diedAll he’d left behind was that ancient rifleI knew my grandfather had been killed by a leopard . . .

In daylight, all day, my father was speechless . . .

Once, twice, a thousand times, he walked into the forestuntil one day the rifle finally went off, reverberating, echoing in  the forest . . .

Frightened, we entered the forest and arrived at the place where  the rifle had gone offMy father was lying on one side, the leopard was lying on the otherThe leopard’s blood and my father’s blood flowed together,purple-red