Yes, once he sunk his teeth into her cheek, she could never fish properly again
She thought (even at times was told) that she was smart
and was still tricked and driven so easily
by her “girlie” heart and empathic pity;
by his overwhelming possessively sad hostility
Too many times becoming a poisoned prick times three
everywhere raised
well to be of use
and hence poured or scolded so
to be Only wanting to see
the also real and other beautiful things in unscrupulous people…
while they worked
she found out
without speaking
that
Not one person is good
Not one person is bad She could see them as they were before, and she could love them as they once deserved
Intent though;
Intent is the aiming of the arrow piercing targets of “means and ends”
of grown children pouting and hurting
in mature skins stunted
by previous punctures unseen or unmended
Branching down sharp wooden twists threading and weaving darkly through
even the nicest of family trees;
Breaking and building
created and continued
as she was expected
to be the surrendered
on cue
at first, that is, until
the “wedge of spite” became the very sound of thirst … the microscopic remaining desire
trembled as the last breathing embers winking,
nearly expired
before such an anticipated second inning;
martyrred momentarily ; un-sweetly slipping
as a leaf in another’s proud and cunning mud, disappeared for three or thirty odd moments
then was rising;
ghasping;
sprouting proper limbs and lust
(once it was composted twice
and finally eaten )
it rose within her:
a tree-full of memories
that dreamt of wings
allowing the finding of her “others”
that had learned or known
how they and she
could and can
sing
(again)
So now, in overflowing bowls of love and wit and willingness and with the bittersweet buffet of arts and books
She feeds herself and her others well, even as she fishes without hooks
Thin Tin String 