Scheherazade

He commands her presence and she obeys;
Her steps are slow, reluctant, terrified
Of what awaits her. He glares, impatient:
“Where have you been, woman?” She whispers back
“I’m sorry…” Her head snaps back as his hand
Slashes across her face. She hides her tears.
His cruelty erupts night after night;
Beauty is no defense. She bows quickly,
Begs his forgiveness… and breathes a quick prayer,
Hoping against hope she’ll say the right thing.
She spins a web – perhaps they’re all deceits –
To bind his wrath and see another day.
The night is long and her mouth grows drier;
She fights to keep the panic from her voice.
For she knows that when her tales run out
Her story may end as well…