I looked outside the window. It wasn’t pretty or serene

Trees were bending, ducking for cover 

and snow hit the ground with a scream.

Unsure, I asked, “Is this a blizzard?”

She told me, “That’s what it seems.”

If you can’t tell whether something is wrong, 

then what could it possibly be?

I shoved my face into a pillow, hoping the pain was a dream.

Of course I’d done something to warrant this hurt -

bruises turned black-yellow-green.

Years later I asked, “Was this abuse?”

She told me, “That’s what it seems.”

If you can’t tell whether something is wrong,

then what could it possibly be?

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