cell mates

I wake up some mornings
not knowing where I am.

I think i'm back in prison
sharing an eight by eight
room
with my cell mate.

but she's gone.
thank god she's not there.

I look at the bars,
the small window
carved in the brick.
the notches I've scratched
into the wall.

my eyes are blurred, my
mind not quite cleared.

i'm not sure if I can
speak, or say what's on
my mind.

i'm paralyzed again with
fear. it's quiet though.
there's no rustling
of the bed.
no ding of her phone.

i'm alone. i'm not in
prison anymore. i'm free.
i'm alive.
I've survived the abuse,
the torture,

I've somehow escaped
the prison of my wife.