Daniel Nester: Prodigies

 He would leave.  We could tell.
 We could hear her fists
 thud on his chest, her sobs in deep
 asthmatic inhales, slow, then fast,
 in time with music blared from our rooms.
 Sneaking closer, I could hear
 the trebly crinkle of trash bags
 loaded with clothes for the motel.
 I knelt on my dresser, knocking
 against the window, a moth
 wild to fly out in the rain.