by Debra Wendt

It was knowing yet not voicing,
a touch to the shoulder without pressure,
possessions they could carry quickly gathered
silent testament child away –.
They fled without the knowledge of her parents
and could not say goodbye to relatives or friends.
He abandoned work without notice – 
neighbors at inquiries shook their heads.
Sheltering beneath the shade of a sycamore tree,
she lifted her weary eyes and watched (as mothers may)
a mirage of heat and windless air, her son a man
displayed above thinned to bone – 
He said it was the journey.

Debra Wendt was born in and educated in Wisconsin. She is a former educator and textbook author. Her poems have appeared in Torrid Literature Journal and The Storyteller

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