our village (21)

The way she said it to me was something like, “Well, I write a little poetry myself,” or, “you’re not the only poet athlete of the village,” or something like that, and she handed me this poem, didn’t say it out loud, just put it in my palm all folded up and then she walked away.

Well, here’s her poem:

A girl
A woman.
Afraid
Afraid not
That this is the whole world
But this is
As is said
As good as it gets.

A rabbit
on the run
in a den
of no escape.
Afraid
Afraid not
That it is the hunted
But that it has
As is said
Become the hunter.

A mom
A monster.
Afraid
Afraid not
That it has done wrong
But that it can’t
Do right.

The only thing is, I think she got it wrong: isn’t it the hunter who becomes the hunted?

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