I once saw my mother slap my father
hard across the face.
It was the first and the last time
she ever did that.
I watched motionless as she ran down the
hall to lock herself in the bedroom,
my father on her heels.
She made it safely inside
and turned the key.
Then, I found out doors
didn't stop my father.
He went right through it.
As a bright five-year-old,
I learned a lesson that day—
that there is no refuge.