Survivor:I Have Been Her Kind
Abstract
Karen M.Roush New York University College of Nursing . . . survivor/ where your flames still bite my thigh/and my ribs crack where your wheels wind./A woman like that is not ashamed to die./I have been her kind. Anne Sexton The floor tastes like dull bread. It's cold and slightly gritty. I try to turn my head so I can breathe easier but it just makes the pain worse and I'm afraid he'll break my neck if I push too hard. Sometimes if I stare straight into his eyes and tell him don't you dare, he'll let go of me. Other times he won't. After, there is silence in the house. The next day there are roses, red and pathetic, they sit on the piano. I will leave him but not this time. Today I wake and dress the kids for school, stop at the store, pay the bills, sweep the house of debris, of doubts. I sit on the front porch and watch the neighbor wives drive by, their lives like some distant shore I have no way to reach. There are months of calm, even years. It is not as if there is happiness, but there