Jo McDougall

After Supper

She liked the anger in her husband's eyes, 
the moment of danger as she hurled the vase. 
The vase fell child-like, fragile as prayer 
or dusk as it waits to enter the tall grass. 
Then the noise, bright and upright as pain. 
When her husband spoke into the silence 
the way he always did, she knew her lines.


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M. Hicks