Content Warning: domestic violence or child abuse
EXHIBIT
Waking to a hand around my neck,
I wasn’t surprised. Violence seemed
a certain inevitability. Mundane
as a mother’s command, her hands
twisting and plaiting my hair.
Was I even in my body?
I try to examine that moment
from here, like a picture in a museum:
myself, barely past girl, so estranged
from my body. A little broken
in the mind, too, some plate inside shattered.
(It didn’t even seem like my choice to make.)
How I just laid there, and was lucky
as his hand released, slipped off, nothing
worse—a bird lifting off a window ledge.
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