Her words

Her words are wrung out in hurried gasps between closing the door and flushing the toilet—pencil stub tucked back into bra strap and writing hidden between pages of fading newsprint rolled and pushed into the window grill just high enough not to be noticed by him-who-hates-her-poems who flies into a rage each time (as if by magic because he never sees her write) her name appears in print to declare her authorship—a woman who writes

            appears on radio
            recites publicly at mushairas
            speaks with men
            possesses words
            as they possess her
            has words to speak
            that make her raise her head
            and lift her eyes

            to his face to the window out of the window to the sky

            in his rage-red mind
            her words become her body
            become her gaze
            looking out of the window
            escaping
            turning to sky
            his hand grabs her long plait
            pulling her willing her back to him

housewife again