Packing Up

I found another little thread of the Unpacking Poem that I'd done this year and completely forgotten about until I cleaned up my computer last night. I'll do some work on it later, but I wanted to put it on the blog for safe-keeping. It needs some line breaks and an intentional form.

Packing Up

I know who you felt-
that everything should be handled
that life was bounding, and if you could hold each one in your hand, and think around it,
it would come back to your doorstep. If you could cradle each vase, each dried
hydrangea, each pair of scissors and scrap of fabric, then life would come together
like an unfinished porch project.

I feel like that some days too, look in the mirror at myself walking
thoughtfully around the house. Peeking into the bathroom mirror, half
expecting to see you.

It would be sad, on that day, when the movers came, and the landlord, and the new renters,
when you sat, weary-eyed on the porch steps, trailing smoke and taking long breaths. Too far gone to feel the shame of leaving late, like a guest at a long past party, waiting on the porch for the ride that never came.