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