The Departure

Before dawn—after he was gone, she pulled the covers

over a punching bag where she normally sleeps—he drove her to this.

She called him a pig and topped the bag with a wig; drew eyes, nose and lips

to give him something at which to swing and aim.

No more distress she thought, pulling a sundress over the cylinder bag

and propped it on a pillow. He would never be stopped until she leaves.

Yes, she thought, he’ll guess the message loud and clear.

The world is vast, she won’t live in the hell of the past, and no more fear.

She grabbed a coat but no parting note required;

Let it be—no purse, no car, no I.D., no credit cards

no money; she won’t mind being poor. She locked the door, stepped out;

felt the breeze on her face as she dropped the keys in the mailbox.

She did not cry, she held her head high as she walked

away. She didn’t look back on this beautiful day. Leaving.