Gone

When I close my eyes

she is gone.

Disappeared.

Vanished.

No one knows where

she could possibly have run.

Or why.

Or how.

Just that she has.

Dutifully we would mourn the loss.

If someone were ever to investigate,

I would meet my father’s gaze.

Imperceptibly, his head would shake.

Then, we would tell the tale of how she left

without a note, a hug or kiss goodbye.

How she left her children and husband

without reason.

We would say we miss her dearly

and wish the inquisitor well.

Shutting the door, I’d turn to him,

Tears of fear stinging my eyes.

Father would hug me the way fathers do

and whisper to me quietly,

“Daughter don’t be afraid.

Fire leaves no trace behind.

And 200 acres is a lot of land.

They’ll never find the body.”