LEAVING MY ROOTS BEHIND
My bags are packed and by the door.
Hugs that put a lump in my throat,
Good-byes, till I can stand no more,
So I hurry to put on my coat.
A familiar bus ride, feels strange today.
A train, platform with people in line.
My seat found. There is no delay,
I’m leaving my roots behind.
Cas Meadowfield writes lots of things; both poems and stories from fantasy to mild horror. Born in Northampton, she now lives in the North East of England, between Newcastle and Durham. Read more of her work on Authonomy.