I was not sorry for her, however
and however you want to think about
forgiveness…well, it’s not as if she ever
asked for it. For years I rationed out
my gall. A poison dropped-by-drop, a wasp
in black and yellow. Sleek, carnivorous,
and on the prowl. So I began to grasp
the fact that women can be ravenous.
Or is it ravishing? Perhaps it’s both.
I drew a line in the sand. Yes, I dared
her to take a step and now I’m loathe
to admit that I’d kind of hoped she would.
I drew a circle in the sand. Knuckled down
and shot hard. Knocked her out and shot again.
Amy Schrader is the author of The Plagiarist (forthcoming from Finishing Line Press, 2017) and The Situation & What Crosses It (MoonPath Press, 2014). She has an MFA in Poetry from the University of Washington; her poems have most recently appeared in Bone Bouquet, Rattle, Arcana: The Tarot Poetry Anthology, Unsplendid, and The Monarch Review.