Time To Go

Check on your friends

On her wrist,
a purple danced
in blues and red
until it unified into
shades of brown and
yellow made it shine.
I asked where she got it,
and I wondered
if I too fell from a step,
would I have the marks
to prove it?
Then there was
a band of the hues,
a piece danced
around her throat,
but the caked ivory
dulled its serenity,
and my question
went ignored.
But I knew from
the way she jumped
when he returned
that she’d fallen into
her mother’s footsteps.
I was older, braver,
and more combative.
We stiffened at his
charming Qs and
contrived genuineness.
And when
his door clicked,
I wrapped my hand
around her bare wrist,
dug my nails at
her resistance,
and dragged her to my car.
A drop of blood
marked freedom,
relief flowed that
it wasn’t the buckets
it might have been.

© J.R. Sonder

In my 9–5 work line, too often, I see people stay because no one is there to help them. If you know it is happening, please help if you can.

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