Atlatl

Lyrics

I sit in the quiet of his calloused grip,
An antler spur waiting to bite your lip.
Three ounces of banded slate tied to my spine,
To steady the drag of the winter wind.
I am the ghost-joint, the sudden reach,
Holding you still on the edge of the breach.

I give you the thunder, I lend you the arc,
I am the lever that tears us apart.
My oldest terror is the sound of the snap,
When you finally slip from my carved-out trap.
I stay in the fingers, unblooded and dry—
You get to bury yourself in the hide.

Before he even spots the herd in the brush,
His nervous system has made me flesh.
I am his forearm, grown suddenly long,
The anchored root of a flying song.
But I only ever know the push and the part,
I never get to enter the heavy dark.

I give you the thunder, I lend you the arc,
I am the lever that tears us apart.
My oldest terror is the sound of the snap,
When you finally slip from my carved-out trap.
I stay in the fingers, unblooded and dry—
You get to bury yourself in the hide.

You fly over the tundra, you shatter the bone,
While I drop to his thigh, just sinew and stone.
I want to know what the warm blood tastes like,
But I am the throw. I am never the strike.

I hold you by the heel.
Until the pressure breaks.
I am the cradle of the speed.
And I stay awake.