by Marissa Bell Toffoli.
Hook and line. Story reels me in though not mine
to speak of. Fishing for adventure. Bravery by way of being
an accomplice. I’ve stolen the facts. They worked
inside me in stealth, now I’ll show you how I intend
to make your life my own. As if it could be
better than the one I’ve known. As if it was
so separate it needed stealing. As if
I could make this up. Make this up to you,
to myself. Naturally, regret’s the word
for what one didn’t do/should have done.
Daunted by overwhelming unknown territory.
I want to work out your secrets so I won’t have to
embellish. I can’t tell if I’m more broken up
about what’s passed or potential future failures.
The leash cinches tight around the neck
of the dog just as she thinks she’s escaped
responsibility. Hook and line as if it were mine.
As if I would be the heroine in a story full
of so many bodies. No one knows who to listen to.
All I can claim—one link in the chain.