SONIA'S DOOR
His snore was surrender.
She watched the man sleep
Inside the ruin he built.
The argument was what
Burnt dried wood turn to.
The calm was colder than morning mist.
She looked at the door,
Not as wood, but as verdict.
Loveless shackles. Clanging keys.
“Course set,” her spine said.
Purpose loaded her chest.
She stood. No goodbye.
Liberation had hinges
That the door couldn't control.
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