Domesticity In the Background

She walks
impervious to silent stares
daggers thrown and dodged
too many voices to decipher
on her own lying down
cracked brick feels worn
out she comes with no suit for hiding
and nets conceal no flesh.

Held her tongue for 7 years
kept the eminent hidden
tried to fit an unknown mold
placed hat upon hat on her head
hoping to find the right fit
something to pull over her eyes
deep enough to sink into,
covering ears too, lean in to listen.

Silence leaked
a hiss from a kettle whistle,
you hear it but quickly tune it out,
and it becomes just another noise
domesticity in the background,
moments of discomfort fade
as soon as someone else takes care of
the noise, the mess slumped in a dress.