He strangled me in his doorway.
Later he called the word “strangle”
dramatic. You could breathe fine.
Hand over my mouth, he shushed
into my ear. Later he said,
You can’t rape your girlfriend.
The next morning I cried at Easter service,
quietly so my mother couldn’t hear.
Another bowed chin in a pew.
I thought the wolf was a wounded bird
dreaming of flight. From a distance,
they’re not so different, his head
a wing puncturing the sky.
At night I lay awake while he slept.
I was nothing but pink flesh.