Death Does Not Become Her

Death does not become her

Purple flowers decorate the places where he beats her

Sneaker logos pattern her back

The Nike “swish” mocks her during the attack

No tears. No sound. Only deafening silence

After he stomps her

She quietly cleans the dishes

As her hands shake

The dinner plate breaks

Blood covers her fingers

A hollow laugh

Pierces the air

A glance in the mirror

Reveals an unfamiliar face

Splotchy and mascara stained

Weathered and severely plain

Weakness does not become her

She licks her lips

Swallows the bitterness

She grips the broken porcelain chips

Squeezes them between her fingertips

The reflection has splintered

Her soul feels like winter

She reaches for his throat

With a fist full of ceramic

He staggers backward in shock and in panic

He reveals the fear in his eyes

She spits in his face

Drops the plate

She mouths goodbye