the seventh day

last night
i fashioned a bow
from
the bones of
creatures my
    cat drug in
and
the branch of a
weeping willow.

to tie it all
together
i pulled
from the
aching mass
of my heart
seventeen sutures
and wrapped
them each
securely
around the
      joints


       for arrows:
       Belial's stolen
       wing feathers.

i carried them
in my
grandmother's
purse
and climbed,
clumsily,
to the top of
the roof

and then -
i aimed, and i shot

seven arrows.

i sent my
anger, and
sadness and
fear
with them

and,
they quivered and
danced through
the ebon sky
until -

they met their mark.



He was
   weary
but He understood
        why
I had done it
and El came
and He cradled
my head and
told me He was
sorry
and told me

sometimes, He, too
felt like
throwing
in the towel
which was,
after all,
all I was
trying to do

and,
   then,
We sat
on the rooftop
in silent
consonance and
    held hands
like old friends
'til the sun
awoke.