Trigger Warning

“I locked the door,” you told me.

One of your 8am Composition 101 students
motioned you out into the hall.
Could hardly talk through her crying,
her trying to tell you that the night was rough,
and that he might still be coming after her.
Something about a breakup that he didn’t want,
garbled through sobbing and breath caught in the cavern
of a throat that struggled for words.
You listened, trying to decipher her words.

You locked the door.

I bow to your cool professor head,
your solution approach to the moment.
It was appropriate, measured, calming for everyone.
According to protocol. But

I would have blanketed her with my arms,
moved way down the hall so that her sobs weren’t so public.
I would have asked if she was safe,
if she felt she could go home
without him lingering in driveways or windows,
without him pressing into places she wanted him gone.

I would have asked about a gun,
whether she had bruises,
whether anything was broken.

I would have asked if he’d ever been violent
before last night.
If he’d ever threatened her,
violated her safe sanctuary.

I would have cancelled class,
taken her to the police station,
helped her file a restraining order.
If her hands were shaking
and she couldn’t force pen to paper,
I would write for her.

Composition 101.
Woman in danger.
This essay has been written
far too many times.