SHE TAKES A SIP OF MILK,
AND LIKE WASTED SILK,
HER THOUGHTS SLIDE TO THE FLOOR.
SHE DOESN’T KNOW IF SHE WANTS TO LEAVE ANYMORE.
EVERYTHING SEEMS NORMAL, EVERYTHING FEELS RIGHT,
BUT SHE KNOWS THERE’S BOUND TO BE ANOTHER FIGHT,
LATER TONIGHT AFTER HE’S DRUNK AND ANGRY,
SLAPPING HER ONCE AGAIN WITH SLASHING SAYINGS.
BUT HE ALWAYS APOLOGIZED LATER
IN AN EFFORT TO ABATE HER.
SHE’S TIRED OF THAT NOW.
IT’S TIME SHE PUT HER FOOT DOWN.
A CAR DOOR SLAMS OUTSIDE;
IT’S TIME TO DECIDE.
HOLDING HER BREATH,
SHE POURS HER MILK ON THE FLOOR,
EYES THE PHONE AND STIFFLY OPENS THE DOOR
.
