#un-moving
Check off
all these belongings from a list
that I wrote in thick blue marker
on a cardboard strip I ripped
There's a book I lost at 26
with dog-eared pages fading gold
16 pens, 45 cents
a dented tin of birthday cards
unnumbered rolls of mints
Sit back
on the carpet in the heat
take another sip and press on
to the bottom. To the green.
There's a look you had at 28
with bow shaped mouth and arching eyes
15 hours, many road trips
your crooked tooth would slant your grin
Never saw me fall right in.
And today I pace apartment floors
or sit amidst a box flap hall
halted breath, an iron hour
clad in sweat, still packed away
in taped up, cardboard yesterday
There's a photograph, from 2010
atop the slippers that you gave.
Raging smiles, orange lights at night.
The River Walk in wintertime.
And it's my favourite pic.
But the 21st was moving day
and all I've got are pickled dreams,
an empty house and waiting boxes,
"Tear my guts out," so they say.
No fight quite like a duct taped box.
No companion like your face.
No shrink quite like an empty bottle.
No wake-up call like moving day.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC