The Night She Escaped

The man took a lot of things
The night she escaped:
 
He got all of her daughter's toys
Her clothes and her hairbrush, too.
He kept the CDs he liked
And frisbeed the others into the door.
So much for her collection
That she started when she was twelve.
He got the TV, the VCR, the DVDs,
He got the china, the pots, and the pans;
He got the towels, he got the couch;
He got everything when she ran.
 
All she took was her little girl
Three years old and wrapped in a blanket--
She didn't even notice when
Her mother grabbed her up
And ran out of the house in her bare feet
Into the frigid wind and snow--
She slept through it all.
 
She slept through it all:
The slamming doors
The drunken accusations,
The arguing, fighting;
The hitting,
The choking,
Even the running.
 
Thank God,
Thought her mother.
She'll never know.
He got a lot tonight,
But he didn't touch her.
 
And one tear-stained cheek
Twitched upwards for a moment
With minute curve of her lip
The night she escaped.