Things We Carry by Louise Pentz

What does it feel like
to know you are going to die
not die like everyone must.

But die
because the one who says
he loves you
who says he will always
love you
who says if you leave him
he will kill you
because he loves you so much
he wants no one else near you.

To know that each day
could be the day he comes
when no one else is home
the day he hides under the porch
to surprise you when you come home.

To feel the breeze from
the bedroom window
broken again and unlocked
to know he is somewhere
in your house, in your home.

To believe
your only escape
is death itself.

[Marie D. stabbed 33 times by her former husband in 1997.]