by Caitlin Thomson
There was nothing clever in her exodus, no false
glasses, no dyed hair, a new passport was not
in the budget. She took the car, as if to work
but kept driving. Her three children were already
living with someone else. They did not see her that
morning. They did not expect to see her that evening.
Erratic in her love, her timing. The police spent a month
coming to the conclusion she was most likely dead.
She had nothing to run from. When they found
her 40 years later, living under an assumed
name, they let her off easy, protected her identity
from reporters, allowed her to keep the life she claimed.
Caitlin Thomson is the co-founder of The Poetry Marathon. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies and literary journals including: The Chiron Review, The Moth, and Killer Verse. You can learn more about her writing at www.caitlinthomson.com.
Ovenbird Poetry 