Truant

Afterwards, everyone judged

though they, too, wished they could run.

History is only kind to those who judge, and with

a girl-child ripped from a mother’s arms, the only

cold comfort to be had was in the dusty pages

of history books.

 

They came for her in the night, but we’d slipped away

hours earlier, under cover of broad daylight, because no one

suspected we’d run.

We left quickly and lightly, only a change of clothes and

a sack of food.

When they arrived the only one to answer for our conscientious crime was

a baffled mutt.

 

We only needed make it to the other side of the bridge

and across the river.

They never found us.