This is a Shakespearean sonnet I wrote for a recent university module.
A mother’s words hang as if locks of smoke,
her child meekly waits on the bed cross-legged.
Packing their bags, mother hands out a coat,
the child slips it on, as fresh tears are wept.
The mother lingers, flipping through papers,
as the wall mounted clock strikes eleven.
Concerned that they may be heard by neighbours,
Mother wants to avoid all the questions.
‘Mother. Mother. Please. Where are we going?’
‘A place we are safe, far away from here.’
‘But what of father?’ The child asks knowing,
‘He is the reason, we have lived in fear.
But now we are primed and ready to leave.
I have cut us both loose, feel the relief.’