From my pen and paper flow

The anguish that only I can know.

A sorrow, a wrong, a slight, 

Comes to me as a thief in the night.

An arrogance, a humiliation, a betrayal 

A sickness, a sadness, a bit unstable.

I dress in my gown of finest black.

My boots and stockings all match.

My necklace and earrings put on last

of the finest silver and camphor glass.

My veil says I'm in mourning you see,

My heart says that I'll soon be free. 

I read again what I've written.

Then leave it by the now cold stove.

In what used to be my kitchen. 

Husband,

This day will be the last time

That I must hear you define

Every single fault that is mine.

For you to belittle and condescend

A woman who is unable to defend

Herself from your mighty blows

And keep secret so nobody knows.

The shame you’ve given me to bear,

Even though it isn’t at all fair

Is one of the things I’m leaving,

And shall now be in your keeping.

How high you think of your brutal hand

You should know it will never make you a man.

Because this union was of fear and pain

Beset by arrogance and disdain.

Now, I can no longer endure this,

And, I will no longer bear witness

To this never-ending tragedy

That became of you and me. 

Wife

Out the door I go into bright day.

The sun shines, but I brush it away. 

My few bags had seemed so light

Now they serve to make me contrite.

My boot heels clack on the concrete.

A steady rhythm like a heartbeat. 

Mrs. Monroe across the street

Waves, and comes to greet.

I nod and try to pick up speed

Since there’s no time to speak.

I’ve gained two blocks that now separate us,

And that makes two thousand miles traitorous.

Which is exactly what I have in mind. 

Ticket in hand at the station, I then find

A nice bench where I can sit alone,

And wait for my dark saviour’s stack

To become visible down the track.

I’ll never be back, this I know.

For my heart is set and I must go.

My head tries to tell me that it’s not too late

That I can just turn around and live my fate.

But, I see the truth to be absent the lie.

That truth I can no longer deny

That even if I were strong and brave

He’d never stop ‘till I lay in the grave.

The shrill whistle blows and I’m on the platform.

I step out of the ashfall, I am reborn.

I find my compartment and I tremble in state.

Then with a mighty lurch, I’m on my way. 

I introduce myself as a widowed matron,

The surname I share is "Bateman",

Which was true when I was a maiden. 

Polite nods as I enter the dining car and am seated.

I hardly know what to do with myself when unneeded. 

My waiter brings me tea and a nice dish.

I'm quite sure I can't stomach it.

My throat and chest pulled too tight.

As the anxiety finds its way to rise

It's not at all unfamiliar; this sensation.

I try to control my nervous agitation. 

Back to my compartment, I stare in the mirror.

Every mile brings my new future nearer.

I realize that in this world, I'm all alone,

It’s just me and I have none to call my own.

I smack my own cheek as he would have done,

When I needed some sense, because I was so dumb.

A deep breath, a final shudder.

And I think there’ll never be another,

Who was actually so daft as to keep 

All his money where his wife did creep.

And, when his afternoon was a deep sleep,

She could quietly prepare and take her leave,

And when he awakes, it'll be his turn to wail and weep.