Split-level 1969

Awakened mid-night she heard him cry.
Beside her bed, his fear, her burden.

Waking to a nightmare, she lay bound,
legs caught beneath ropes of need.

Her mother stood frozen at the door,
passive beneath the hall light.

At six, she ended before she began,
assumed their roles, mumbled comfort.

In the next room, her brothers slept,
undisturbed and oblivious to the shift.

Some nights, she put her coat and shoes on,
stood on the front door landing, thought of running.

She stayed for the little ones.
She learned to live as an orphan.

She held her self in.