Her green eyes close and sleep follows. Her favourite time of day, or rather night.
At night she escapes her diagnosis, her ageing bones and the tang of disinfectant that pervades this ‘home’. At night she prowls the rocky terrain of her mind and inhabits it wholly. She likes to sleep more now. In sleep she is untroubled, unseen. She can follow the lavender scent of home and cuddle her babies once more.
In the waking hours, raised voices ask questions again and again. Yet no-one can answer her own. Where did Jack go? That’s all she wants to know.
I can see he isn’t here anymore, stop telling me that.
The rocks fragment and fall underfoot, she cannot find her way.
She wears a smile often, the only reassurance she knows how to offer. “I’m still here” it cries.
In sleep, she is all powerful, elusive like the snow leopard. Such strength and yet their status, vulnerable.
The mighty are not only those who roar.
the Same online literary journal, Issue 10.2, 11th June 2018
Mighty Wren 
The last line is killer 😊❤️
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