Written the week before we moved away from our home of twenty-four years. I’m so glad that the feelings expressed here are in the past
A Day In July
My mind races to
the mantra of moving.
Sort, purge, pack tight, tape.
Mark books or china,
heavy or fragile
our life boxed away.
A fat black marker,
obliterates the item from my list,
one less thing to do,
one step closer.
The rhythm carries me,
keeps me numb.
Pretend with me.
Let the catch in my voice
go unnoticed,
my emotions contained.
Just one word of kindness
will shatter my resolve.
ROADBLOCKS, DETOURS and ROUNDABOUTS 
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