He would leave. We could tell.
We could hear her fists
thud on his chest, her sobs in deep
asthmatic inhales, slow, then fast,
in time with music blared from our rooms.
Sneaking closer, I could hear
the trebly crinkle of trash bags
loaded with clothes for the motel.
I knelt on my dresser, knocking
against the window, a moth
wild to fly out in the rain.