Netta's Triumph

Four days had passed since she had tangled with her evil dragon Netta crowed in triumph; she proudly displayed her shattered glass no longer primed to feed her beast Her eyes, her words, glowed with the joy of victory earned through blood and tears. Now plans are made, a new road chosen... I had seen her in trembling misery along shadowy night streets as she exchange clandestine glances with the corner boys or pleaded with oblivious passersby to share their wealth so she could have something to stoke the fire that feed her god but this one bright morning she held her head high and the creases I'd known had vanished from her suddenly radiant face She had plans, she told me of fleeing to some distant beach where trouble and dragons could never find her; she would not carry her usual baggage but would go on her journey in peace, and released from bondage. Four days gone from the prison she had carried within her. Her heart, her mouth uttered in a trembling whisper a strange exotic word: Hope. Three weeks have passed since the morning of Netta's triumph. Twenty mornings later, her weary feet drag her toward a breakfast of charity; the desolation in those eyes has returned, like an ever hungry beast following the one compelled to feed it. No words are needed, not from Netta, not from me; we both know how reality can crush a dream. We eat in silence, and share familiar desperation. Written November 9th, 2001 © on Nov 09 2001 12:44 AM PST   0 • 10