She said it was fine
This business venture would make us
It didn’t.
Not I’m standing here
In a forest of boxes
Where the house is cold
The lights aren’t off be choice
Realizing that
We can only bring a few things

Would the sheriff come today?
November 20, 2008?
What would he say?
Nothing?
He’d just hand the notice over
What isn’t clear to me
Is how we get to here
Things were going so well
Trips, eating out, kayaks

Back standing in the bedroom
I go through the boxes stored
Way in the back of the closet
Memories of my childhood
Put neatly away
Stacked far from sight, not mind
All boxed up
Wouldn’t it be nice if
The memories were too?