At the dimly lit desk paying bills, making plans, he waited.
Tucked in that nook with distractions, a million things to be done, he waited.
Open heart between shoulders buckled under the weight of her chaos, he waited.
Vivid and blinding, the light after her dark, she returned to him.
Before school in the silence or after in noise, they wondered.
Floor riddled with pots, air thick with stale rage, they wondered.
In their rooms or on stairs, still too small to reach the rail, they wondered.
Warm smiles followed weeping behind doors gone cold, she embraced them.
Footprints dotted the globe, feverish pursuit, baby girls, she loved him.
With curled hair and red lipstick and long drawn out gazes, she loved him.
Dancing in the kitchen, hovering over food-colored snow, she loved him.
The house has gone quiet, save for her truths, she turned away from him.
With strokes on stretched canvas that bled through to the floor, she left them.
A victim too tied to her struggle, consumed by her cause, she left them.
For freedom, for righteousness, one last indignant stand, she left them.
Blinded in battle, deaf to their voices, she's gone from them.
Hope between shoulders now buckled with sadness, he'll wait for her.
They’ll marry, have babies, wishing she’d call, they'll need her.
Never learning their lessons, they'll wish for white flags, and they'll cry for her.
If ever there at all, gone is she now, she’s walked away from them.