Grabbing at her skirts with reaching manly hands

uninvited

toward a desired body-

not hers (the particular) but any-

that flipped the switch, dramatically,

from her naive Oh I’m Wanted

to the real He Thinks He Can Take Whatever He Wants,

and she wheels around, out of his greedy, cruel grip

leaps out the window onto a roofline she knows like a cat

and stops doubting her worth, while learning

to doubt his,

and smiles with bare feet hugging the tile crest

of a building she’s perfectly willing to leave, bearing

a trail of grief so light it brings only

a rush of relief.