I ask you about arrows I repeat

I ask you about arrows I repeat

father’s words are rocks landing on a small girl’s back 
she carries them when they hit, she’s on all fours she’s a dog 

glancing red a slicing blade 
the way he looks at her she’s cut through
her shoulders 
there’s a growling 
hanging in a curdled air 

jealous of his children 
the back of his hand 
threat of the back of his hand 
his words about feeling the back of his hand

I wish my mother had told him even once just to stop 


Kate Walters

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