we broke out the windows
and crept down the stairs
broken glass in my jeans
cut up my shin and knee
something less extraordinary
than a pretentious art film
something more real
than the last time he hit me
we cut locks of hair from them
sleeping victims we had our way
stealing reminders to stay the day
to keep these moments fast at hand
put some jewelry in our back packs
and some stale pastries in our mouths
we left out the front door
to prove our point.
