with a pink bathrobe tied ’round her neck, she scrambled out the bedroom window and onto the roof. the wind blew, the cape flapped; her hair tied its knots into knots.
she straddled the highest peak and listened …
… listened … listened…
there were popcorn cows in the meadow when her mother began to yell.
the child didn’t move. she had closed the bedroom window. she smiled at the thump of doors opening and closing below. no one would think to look on the roof.
she looked to the clouds that rose over the flat-topped mountain and put her hand over her heart.
when i grow up i’m moving away from this place.
you will never find me.
that flapping sound
must be last winter’s kite