He brought her flowers, once
Ones, when they were twogether.
And when he went to work, she would
Trace circles on the clean muslin tablecloth
Listening out for the hopeful circular murmur of tyres
Rolling up the slope.

Circles was when they were in love

Today she watched his black back depart
And was consumed by a rip-roaring tide
Staring with her bloodshot eyes
She painted squares on the crimson tiles.

She still loved him, didn’t she?
She inspected the rough round marks on her shoulder
A dullish brown, blossoming jealousy-yellow-green
Her hair was no longer the once-vibrant curls
Now they angularly framed her thin, gaunt face.
She wouldn’t meet her eyes in the mirror,
Frightened of what she’d find.

And there it was!
The still-hopeful circular murmur of tyres
Her ragged nails paused with a blinding screech
She waited, her heart tearing through
A whirling flurry so biting it choked her:
Love and hate, hope and fear.

The storm crackled, ended
And as he left once more, she went back to
Dejectedly tracing circles on the dirt-brown floor.