The room sits in vacant silence

as I slap a wet rag over the marble floor,

a familiar wave of panic

coating my skin.

Occasionally a chime announces

a tickle of wind at its feet,

the corner of the newspaper

dabs the coffee table until

it surrenders itself back to quiet.

The scream is all too familiar,

a roar ripping through his lungs,

the fragile silence in the room,

and every pore of my shivering skin.

It spews a volcano of words,

rattling against doors, windows

and walls

of my heart.

I tug the ends of my sari over my face

as madam descends the stairs in whispered strides,

shoulders hung in resignation,

fresh powder clinging to the bruise on her cheek,

her eyes lift just long enough

to register the swollen half moon

scoring my eye, a remnant

of last night.

She looks away from this mirror

almost instinctively, before the truth

can swell in her eyes.