no one says please anymore

laughter rings out on the courtyard, it's mine. a knock on the door after the dinner guests have departed, and in my own home. don't come in here like that, uninvited. and the knot in my back where it's been forced, and the knot on my temple, where it hit the frame. the scratches on that face and neck where i no, the bruises on that stomach and chest where i no, the no where i no. i resonate against the walls and the empty apartment. these eyes don't widen in surprise, the knuckles don't clench. i double lock the door, and the last click is when the yelling stops. it's mine. i ice where it hurts. there are no safe places, maybe, but here on my back, alone and with the window open. what do the neighbors think? in the back of my mind i watch the images you write me slide like clothes on a line being reeled closer to a window. teapot yours, piano yours, the high-set windows, none of these belong to me, not the mossy bricks, not even the blue dress. but it feels better, to be a dress, a brick, an instrument, anything but a girl, sprawled out with a towel full of ice


we are, none of us, so bad.