Moving

by

Rick Bandy

Empty boxes filled with
The accumulation of living.
Another drawer yawning and vacant.
Another strip of tape.
Each article a memory
Forcing a choice.
Move it? Leave it behind?

Ticket stubs from Brussels and Chennai.
Letters long cold and meaningless.
The lamp not yet fixed.
Treasures whispering for
A moment’s remembrance.
Arguing against relegation
To the dust bin
With the odd socks,
The guitar cord that failed me once,
And the letters.

Another trip to the curb.
Another carton of living.
My trusty old friend almost full,
Waiting patiently, holding my essence,
Crated, taped, and ready for transport.
Assured that he’ll be coming along
To find a new curb where he’ll wait.

One last glance around the rooms
That were both prison and solace.
Now empty and echoing.
The trash is last to go.
A long pause staring at the left-behinds.
The letters go back into my pocket.
Funny, the things we value
in last moments.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Milkwort tureen
by: M A Heathcote
from: Manchester, England, UK

To visit all of Rick Bandy's poems, click HERE

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