turning tables

~
her face
subdued
map of heaves
intermittently
revealed
~

mournful eyes
widowed by life
not necessarily
a widow for he
thrived
~

she touched
her ring feeling
its digs as knife
on flesh, its import
painfully understood
~

no longer
a gauche doe
in life’s headlights
she wooed shadows
come twilights
~

gradually honing
survival skills she thrust
parried with carefully
chosen words stopping
just short of kills
~

the hunted
no more a game
halted bruising
effectively changing
life’s game
~

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