Poetry: The Runaway

The Runaway
Water drips in a full bucket placed beneath a gutter leak
It sits aside the bottom step to prevent a puddle from forming
Low moonlight barely fills the rim as it rides ripples shaped by bent 
wood, pushed by the midnight breeze that whistles alone
Soft steps walk down finding each board in the dark
Avoiding the familiar places where warped wood and nail heads complain
Out to the yard towards the fence that never was built, but where one 
should be, boundaries imagined are strong as wrought iron
Sneak out in the night’s middle, knowing others are dreaming of Tuesday 
while you packed, no note left on a counter, thoughts too fragile to put 
on paper If they don’t know where you are heading,
then they don’t need to know why you left
Why’s are for those worthy of knowing
Very few are worthy
You can leave
Cut all ties,
scissors snap 
a ribbon
as hand
opens
gate

Published by

Shannon Laws

Shannon P. Laws lives in the Pacific Northwest. She is a published poet, currently working on a series of short stories. For seven years she produced award-winning community radio programs that promoted the PNW music/art community. Shannon's other interest include operating her voice-over company, Chickadee Productions.

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