The opening of the final box
narrowed to a slit
and was sealed shut with tape
ripped from the roll.
The movers moved from room
to room. They whispered when we
were out of earshot
and collected their equipment.
You and I, we passed
through the scorched walls of
the kitchen, through the open back door
and into the yard, just for a second.
The patches of granulated brown,
the anthills teeming with venom
and overflowing with angry bodies:
We let our children play here.
Our hands detached
and, as the sun settled behind the fence,
we peered through the window
they had often peered through to see our
faint forms lying in the living room.
We stood there, trying to remember
more, as the door’s opening contracted,
clicked shut and locked us out.
Moving Day by Jeffrey Winter | Sandalwood & Vanilla Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
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