the fight

dreamt of deep tombs filled with wary bones...
a botanica/jewelry store built on top.

as my "mother" and i were leaving,
a ham-fisted man caught us in the hallway.
we tried to keep walking.
the man's wife tried to keep him walking.

he threatened anyway.
came for mother first.

somehow, in a way i didn't see, she cut him.
slashed right across his throat, but he dripped instead of gushing.
tasted his blood, fed it back to him...

i was shocked.
then it occurred to me:
she wanted to know how insane he had to be to step to her.
the blood told her.
she said,
"if you would harm someone, harm yourself first. drink your own blood."

that's when he, weakened, lifted his fat hand to slap her.
i waited.
he did.
i got my hand around his bloodied neck
and choked him til his eyes bulged,
saying, "don't you ever lay a hand on my mother..."


"draw me out of the net they have spread for me, for you are my refuge; to your hands i commit my spirit, by you have i been redeemed." ~psalm 31:4-5