under
      indifferent
      eyes.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      swollen
      lips
     
    

    
     
      tooth
      marks
      on
      his
      fist,
     
    

    
     
      the
      dull
      thud
      as
      flesh
      cushions
     
     
      bone
     
    

    
     
      against
      bone.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      blood
      in
      the
      snow
     
    

    
     
      happier
      drawings
      in
      frost
      on
      windows
     
     
      why
      won’t
      that
      door
      ever
      swing
      closed?
     
     
      to
      shut
      him
      up
     
    

    
     
      shut
      him
      out
     
    
   
   
    
     
      her
      cries
      fall
      on
      the
      deaf
      ears
     
     
      of
      a
      God
      whose
      love
      could
     
     
      never
      stay
      his
      hand.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      turn
      the
      other
      cheek.
     
     
      back
     
    

    
     
      breast
     
    

    
     
      stomach
      neck
     
    

    
     
      no
      cheeks
      left.
     
    

    
     
      no
      unknown
      surface.
     
     
      her
      whole
      body
      a
      stage
     
     
      upon
      which
      to
      play
      out
     
     
      the
      tragedy
     
    

    
     
      of
      the
      virtue
     
    

    
     
      of
      patience.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      —jonah
      campbell
     
    
   
   
    
     
      [15]