I see red

lips pucker against a surge;

he beats her

to the news—a belly

swollen whole. I’m half-

gone to wonder

three tables over, reading

the room. I call the waitress

from the storm, she brings water

when I ask of the sea. I show her

my magazine with the tides

and the birds that refine

as they breathe. I say maybe

she can pluck rage from that flower

as it grows. But at this diner

her eyes close and it’s just

two girls, sifting

through the dark.