Tucked tightly between matchbox sheets, the cars
move in rhythm with his soft breathing.
Ringlets frame chubby cheeks and the wet puddle
that spreads from his mouth to the trucks on his pillow.
Something in his dreams distorts his face--
peels away his serenity and he turns away from her
to dampen the other side of his pillow.
She continues
sacrificing pride and flesh to keep him
calm--to protect the child from his temper--
attempting to absorb his anger at all costs. Her hands
reach out to shield her swollen face. His fury
echoes down the hall, then falls to the floor
defeated by her submission to his blows.
(The eighth line should be indented to meet the seventh line, but this stupid thing won't let me do that for some reason, so just keep that in mind as you read [img]smile.gif[/img]
