Domestic Violence

There's a good woman hiding somewhere
deep beneath this skin
Beneath the twilight and between the sharp edges,
beyond the little prickles and between the fight
there is a good woman here.

She stands with a backbone of fretboards and her hips
are made of f-holes.
Her hair of silver strings, softly swishing a lullaby,
coaxing a song from the still summer air.

There's a good woman in here,
she's the mother of your children,
the wife cooking dinner and fetching your slippers;
There's a good woman in here,
waiting for the crescendo of rifle fire and rock salt,
pacing the steps of the guillotine for freedom.