The sky didn't answer, so beneath an oak, I buried my hope, my wishes in the ground. Words like seeds, too fearful to speak aloud. Watered them with tears, longing to be anywhere else. Mud, dirt, and dust - Trust lay beneath the soil and shadows of limbs. The words sank deeper, taking root in the dark, making friends with dead leaves and chipped bark. The garden bloomed in fall. I was gone - free. The tree cut down. The earth salted with grief. The others left behind, hate me for escaping. I keep returning, in my mind. Some roots never die.
Heather Cline is a graduate of Southeast Missouri State University (social science), a caregiver by day, and resides in Missouri, USA. She has works accepted by Bright Flash Literary Review and Five Minutes Lit, and can be found on Twitter @hmclinewrites.
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