under indifferent eyes.

swollen lips

tooth marks on his fist,

the dull thud as flesh cushions bone

against bone.

blood in the snow

happier drawings in frost on windows why won’t that door ever swing closed? to shut him up

shut him out

her cries fall on the deaf ears of a God whose love could never stay his hand.

turn the other cheek. back

breast

stomach neck

no cheeks left.

no unknown surface. her whole body a stage upon which to play out the tragedy

of the virtue

of patience.

—jonah campbell

[15]