We are the only ones who understand us. I am the only one who understands him. Two broken people with shattered hearts and dark eyes like Mom. Two who do not belong together but are together. Two hurt people drawn together by the moon. From her room, she can hear us, but Mom just sleeps and doesn’t bother us anymore.

Our strength is secret. He sends vicious fists beneath the sky. They fly up and they fly down and smash her face between the hairy knuckles and bite her cheeks with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is how they stay.
Let him forget his reason for being, they’d all fall like the roses on the table, each fist with their arms around the other. Shh, shh, shh he says when I cry. They hurt.

When I am too bruised and too tired to keep keeping, when I am a tiny being against so many fists, then it is I who looks at dead roses. When there is nothing left to look at on this table. Two who grew despite anger. Two who fight and do not forget to fight. Two whose only reason is to try and try.