First thing to break was a jug 

and as it was filled with milk 

it was something she could shrug off

not without sadness but without anger 

 

She could admit the mistake

and she refused to worry

And when she pricked and cut her hand 

she got some satisfaction from the sight of her own blood

but it was when she realised a black sock had fallen

in with the white sheets and stained them like tar 

a kind of fear and anger

 swept over her 

and she could think of nothing 

except escape