Prodigies

Daniel Nester

 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.
 

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