BRUISE behind the bamboo curtain her face puffy her hair a fright comb held in two tweaked fingers unsteady She mascaras lipsticks pouts The chipped mirror looks at her hard Up and down her bangle is coloured cotton forget-me-nots It will rise a hurt red fruit inside her thigh An ash tidemark in her head It will not fade The bruise That night the house is numb Over the agony of their meal The left stained plates The cold fury as he climbs in She, silently weeping woman her cheek shudders hate shame
If you've any comments on his poem, Robert James Berry would be pleased to hear from you.