THE PRIZEFIGHT

By Farah Lawal Harris, 2024

I balled my fists up and assumed a fighting stance.

i couldn’t see his hands.

i skipped around the ring to look menacing.

He appeared to do nothing.

i shouted insults, a list of all the things that were his fault.

The bell dinged and it was time for the brutal assault.

I swung and swung until my shoulders burned

and the taste of copper crept on my tongue.

“How could you do me wrong? Our love was a beautiful song!” I cried.

I cried and cried some more.

He picked me up and hugged me,

slid the red gloves off my red palms,

then whispered to me once I was calm:

“The fact that you were fighting

means you still believe.”

The bell dings.

Unanimous decision in favor of me.

Victory!