‘Who here is in the world but not of it!’
they demanded in shined boots and crisp suits and when they looked at her
her eyes said too much for their light could not be concealed.
There in that grand pause
she a speck under the firmament
of the dim
closing in on her
knowing she was finally going Home
time come to consecrate her child
only one of her choosing
only five years old
but they would let her live
orphaned and peripheral but with breath and the same mission
would be thrown onto the road
the offensive regime just on the horizon
like a broken seal releasing
and she would go to him so he would not have to die alone.
Angel or human
There is no break in time long enough to say goodbye to a mother’s child.
©2018, Amaya Engleking
Tonight we explore the caesura in poetry over at dVerse.