Recurrences

All day long she moves in silence.

Betrayed only by musical glass bangles,

I could almost believe in her non-existence

But at night,

she presents herself in giggles,

and the rustling of silk.

Sometimes,

she wears the night out in sobs,

and screams in between loud meeting of angry fist on flesh.

Her husband,

likes to think she is a goddess incarnate

and either adorns her in silk embraces

and worships her sensuality

or inflicts her malaise and anger.

In stages of brutality.

Her remonstrations.

His expletives.

And the night tries itself out.

Then silence, as intangible as death.

Her sobs.

His pleas

Carrying the death of the fumbling dregs of his misery

The morning comes.

Carrying in its mouth,

promises of a recurrence.

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