Once again, They are crying,
upstairs. Raised voices, harsh
words. She looks away,
dismayed, embarrassed,
he turns up the music.
From time to time, passing
in the hall, everyone smiles,
talks about the weather—
as if he doesn’t know,
as if she hasn’t been forced
to listen to every ugly thing
They say to each other,
believing that no one can hear.
© 2020, by Hannah Six
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