Ending It
Jill Abram

Today I didn’t send the children to their room
       as knots formed in my belly
       at the sound of your key in the door
I didn’t scan for warning signs in your eyes
       on your breath, how you moved,
       cover bruises with make-up and lies
I didn’t grill your pork chop just-so
       smooth every lump from your mash
       for you to throw the plate across the room
I didn’t bounce off the wall from the fist
       I didn’t see coming, feel your hands
       around my throat, lose my breath
I didn’t pretend to be asleep as you came up to bed
       hoping you wouldn’t drag me out by my hair
       get in with me to do worse
I didn’t bleed from my busted nose
       losing our baby which you kicked out of me
       yelling that it wasn’t yours.
Last night I put a knife under my pillow.
Tomorrow I will hold my head up.