deepundergroundpoetry.com
Uncaging
She left more than just a few bruises in her wake;
no dust cuts better than a wind from nightmares
but you can't change in a day.
It's easy to run, to leave. Too easy,
but to start new with any resolution takes steady
bones of stone. Without this armour the weapon's blunt.
As I sit in the waiting room, index finger and thumb
looping her cold, night rain-washed wrist
she whimpers a routine sorry as the dust still stings my eyes.
The nurse calls her in, I watch them close the door.
I take my jacket and leave. No dust in my wake.
I take the cuts and bruises with me
as my steady hands button up my jacket
to walk the night's cold rain that will never relent.
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