My broken heart and my defective captive rope
He was French Canadian but didn't speak French. He looked like a big shaggy wolf with eyes the colour of green sea glass and curly dark hair streaked with grey, like a wolf's mane. He had a big nose and a full lower lip that I always nipped at when I kissed him. He was a working man with the soul of a poet trapped in a crash test dummy and I fell head over heels the minute I laid eyes on him… I even said to myself stick a fork in me I'm done what is even the point to keep looking… He was my Lucinda Williams song come to life in the form of a 6'1" man who should have been a cowboy... or a trapper in the forest breaking the hearts of all the Indian girls he came in contact with, cos he sure broke mine. I'm such a cliche falling for yet another settler boy. This time my captive rope didn't work and he broke free…wolves are like that. It was like he prowled around the edge of my fire close enough to settle down near me, padding close enough to touch occasional