So the man seized his concubine, and put her out to them;
      and they knew her,and abused her all night until the morning.
      And as the dawn began to break, they let her go. And as
      morning appeared, the woman came and fell down at the door
      of the manís house where her master was, till it was light.

            —Judges 19: 25-26

Doors that donít open
are the ones remembered.

Knock. Knock. Scratch.

She learned the many darknesses
of how full

emptiness can feel.
A body tires of things

inside. No one slept that night,
not the woman,

the master, the men
or if they did, only God

(also called He) saw
and recorded it.

It would be easy to see her
as a dog, obedient

at the door

her nails the last
thing to break.

She fell. It was light.
Or rather the sun came round again.

Copyright 2006,  Betsy Johnson-Miller

Betsy Johnson-Miller has an MFA from Bennington College, and her work has most recently appeared in The Sycamore Review, The Red Rock Review, and Good Foot.


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