Curve for Sunday Scribblings

Casting a Spell

I am that worm
curved on the end
of your fishing line
pierced by the sharp-
ness of your words.

When you arc
your arm back
and cast me
into the world,
I fly away
from you
higher, deeper
and try to survive,
try to swim away,
avoid being eaten.

But eventually you
reel me back in,
sometimes intact
but mostly ragged.