Cold Room Poem by chris dawson

She cradles the knife like a babe in arms
Rocking in a corner
He leaves for work
She hopes that he will not return
But he will
He always does
Always has
She feels like dirt already
The father that she cannot turn to
The parent that she might just kill
To save herself from a fate
Worse than death itself.

She hears the footsteps
Those footsteps
A knife
Can she thrust?
Can she trust?
No one will accept
Could she find another way?
Will he leave her alone this day?
Still footsteps
He is coming still towards her
Still
And she hears him on the stairs
She’s ready and she’s waiting
As she has been before