Proving a Point
Even if I have to make it myself
Of course I don’t love you anymore.
You couldn’t even treat me like I was a human being,
Worthy of respect and consideration.
So, turn around.
Keep walking.
Run, for all I care.
No? Fine, so be it.
I have no patience or tolerance for your head games.
Whatever love I had for you,
It’s gone.
And it will never come back.
Revenge?
No.
Justice.
Pain and suffering can be measured,
Days and months of elevated cortisol,
Micrograms per deciliter in my veins.
I want you to pay in kind.
I want you to bleed.
Do you like them?
I made them all myself.
Shaving wood, getting the recurve just right,
Twisted sinew, flaked obsidian.
I bought the dowel rods,
But picked up the goose feathers from the yard
After first molt.
The glue is easy to buy.
Why won’t you stand still?
I want to prove to you
Just how love dying
Is an arrow to the heart.
About the Creator
Meredith Harmon
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
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