She walked away from the room numb,
oblivious to the days that would come after
and the consequences to letting them touch her
that she knew there would be. There would be

voices in the dark for years, flashbacks of hands,
the sink of dread at the click of a door latched shut,
sleepless nights. If I could have been there
I could have told her that even this all goes away,

tell her about the better men she would meet
the children she would have, the way her husband would
hold her in his arms while they slept
years into their marriage. I would tell her

not to worry, not to regret
the singular, awfulness of that one short afternoon,
that all roads, for her,
would still lead to perfection.