how to make a bow & arrow

i have been trying to grow out
my hair in the hopes i can use it
as a violin bow. there are objects
all around the house waiting 
to become weapons. water bottle 
& window & wooden spoon.
my partner is making a bow & arrow
from our bones. he says, "this is
how the ancestors did it." i let him
take what he needs. a tooth. a rib. 
i am trusting & untrusting. my instincts 
are bad. we chopped the land up
& now all i know how to do is
make mac & cheese from a box 
when someone is sad. the bow & arrow
is as big as us & then it is as big as the living room
& then it is bigger than the house.
the tip of the arrow, sharp. our canines.
i learn it is best not to ask questions
of myself or anyone else. he asks me,
"what do you think you want in life?"
i have no answer. all i know is i want 
to eat lychee berries some nights
& the i enjoy the thrum my brain gets
when i watch a bee's nest. 
i have less & less ambitions &
the ones i do have sound exhausting. 
why isn't the arrow softer? why do we have
to hunt? the deer come & i always
shoo them away. i say, "don't you know
that is a bow & arrow?" they are though
just like me. they explain, "we are we are
we are." i do not know what that means.
whatever. i am a poet so meaning can be
like grease. it gets all over you 
& then you are weeping. the bow is 
bigger still. my mouth, a flower pout.
supple & toothless. there is not enough
to make the bow we need. the net to catch
the stars as they try to escape. 
once we caught a fight with our bare hands.
my partner said, "i'm sorry" to the fish.
the fish said, "please."