through the windshield of her car
on a date night with her husband.
She shouldn’t toss all the love tokens
from their dresser, watch perfume bottles
shatter and pour on their wood floor.
A woman should not flick her iPad
through a living room into a bookcase
of any kind. She should not get into
a black car (windshield still busted),
and drive through Seattle at 92 MPH--
90 W, 5 N, 520 E, 405 S—full circle
to a house—theirs. Picking glass out
of the carpet, a woman shouldn’t leave
a shard in her thumb. She shouldn’t
squeeze it out with her fingers
two days later—see her blood
dry on the kitchen countertop.
She shouldn’t be speechless when he knocks
her against a brick hearth. She should
open the flue and let her voice boom.