Our Secret Language

We had once again found ourselves,

tightly wound and tight lipped,

tucking secrets in at night

Like we used to do as children.

We could see it in his eyes

when the mood had struck.

That ever glaring, empty bottle,

explosive kind of mood.

We learned to communicate

with nothing but our eyes.

A secret sister language,

as words were not always safe

or welcome within these walls.

Walls that pulsated with fear

as he approached with his fist.

We would escape in and out

through windows, locked shut,

leaving behind traces of blood.

We would wait for the sun to rise,

or some nights for the rain to stop,

letting us know the coast was clear.