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Mother didn't see
the blood trickling
down my leg,
my hair undone,
my pinstriped dress
worn inside out,
my bitten lip.

All she saw was the clock
embedded in an Aztec sun
above the fireplace, its hands
resting on permanent midnight,
and the one beer remaining
in her six-pack.

She told me
what a good girl I was
to be home on time
as I limped to my room,
saying nothing.

      — Teresa White

Hear Teresa White read 'Curfew'