The wait is over: her body solely hers once more

compliance had perversely annulled the torture

self denial been powerfully convincing

eyes, dry as quarried stone, borne no witness.

She gazes into the cerulean morning sky

cloudless

real enough to breathe

close enough to touch

to kiss.

In the east, the sun hovers peculiarly high for spring

morning dew seeps through her clothes

washes her skin

her arms outstretched

fingers still plunged into the soft mud

like knives hilt deep into flesh

she slowly withdraws them

exhales in relief

banishing his presence for ever.

A dragonfly inquisitively

hovers over her face

watching

listening

enticing her to weep

to scream

she remains silent, impassive.

The insect lights on her bare breast

for merely a second

it leaps to her pale thigh

she brushes it aside

curls her knees to her chest

unravels her gathered skirt and brushes

it back down over her calves.

rakes her nails along her body

the cracked ends snagging on torn black silk.

She cries “mother!”

yearning for the soothing heartbeat

and the womb-like sanctuary of home

she rolls into a foetal pose.