A chair. A table. A lamp. And a window with white curtains. And the glass is shatterproof, But it isn't running away that they're afraid of. A handmaid wouldn't get far. It's those other escapes, The ones you can open in yourself, Given a cutting edge or a twisted sheet and a chandelier I try not to think about those escapes. It's harder on ceremony days, but thinking can hurt your chances. My name is Offred. I had another name, but it's forbidden now. So many things are forbidden now