Night Coins

Night Coins

Jangle of coins
                     freezes me
Bile rises in struggle 
                      to leave my lips.

On the bus
               the supermarket,
the laundry quarters
                that haunt me

First there would be
                 heavy footfalls
on the warped floor
                  outside my door

Taking down his pants
                 leaving on his boots
he would do things
     then rise from
my little bed with fairy quilt,
                 pull up his pants
and ruffle my curls

                 the jangle of coins
in his pocket would be my
                  release from his horror

To this day I tremble at the sound of coins jangling.