I Won't Have This Arrow Taken Out.

(Frida Kahlo, The Wounded Deer)

This Arrow

I won’t have this arrow taken out until I understand this.
I won’t have this arrow taken out until I know,
Until I’ve learnt the name of the man who wounded me, 
And all the details of his family tree. 

I won’t have this arrow taken out until I understand this.
I won’t have this arrow taken out until I know ,
Until I know the trade of the man who wounded me, 
Whether he’s selling arms or herbal tea? 

I won’t have this arrow taken out until I understand this.
I won’t have this arrow taken out until I know,
Until I know if his hair is black or fair ,
If his clothes are fancy or threadbare. 

I won’t have this arrow taken out until I understand this.
I won’t have this arrow taken out until I know 
If his bow was made of cherry or of ash,
Bought with credit or with cash. 

I won’t have this arrow taken out until I understand this.
I won’t have this arrow taken out until I know
Whether his bowstring was of silk or of nettle,
Used to kill or to unsettle. 

I won’t have this arrow taken out until I understand this.
I won’t have this arrow taken out until I know 
Whether the shaft was made of bamboo or of plastic, 
Was ungiving or elastic;
Whether it was feathered from the wings of a vulture or a peacock 
Whether the bird was bred in Florida or in Bangkok.

I won’t have this arrow taken out until I understand this.
I won’t have this arrow taken out until I know for sure,
Until I’ve learnt if the man who wounded me was in actuality good. 
Maybe, just maybe I just misunderstood.

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