The Floor Board

There were bruises all up and down the right side of her face,
these days it was the only way she knew she had any days left,
black and blue was still a sign of life,

At night,
in the cold shower at the end of her corridor,
she let the water drench her wounds,
this wing of the home was still hers for the taking,
at least for the keeping

She had dark rings under her eyes,
not the kind of tree rings you brag about,
ones that represent long life and sustenance,
the other kind

At night,
she rubbed under her eyes and tried to erase any proof of this time in her life,
surely she could make her way out of here,
someday,
somehow,
if she was smart enough

There were new gashes on the left cheek,
grave gashes,
ones that left her lying on the granite tile of the bathroom floor,
coughing in the name of reparations,
where she was safe from the other side of the house,
and in plain view of the window,

The window---
her oldest friend and foe,
and what she would long for in the face of russet soil