Ring

The cold, hard metal

A gold circle on her hand

Is it the ring that keeps her here?

With a broom in her hand

And dinner on the stove

Does it hold her prisoner?

Like the bracelets

In the station in town

A smooth, round design

Locks her into a pattern

Looking out the window

With dishes in the sink

Washing plates like the dirt

Caked in his palms

Will she shed the ties?

Break the circle and leave

But life in a small town

Is all she knows

And perhaps all she ever will know

And so the circle goes

A little town and the sting

Of the heartbreak

But the dinner is ready

And then more dishes to wash