Funny the way my hands
pack up the first box, sharp
contrast to the last, what
was measured, delicate,
now haphazard, throw
a picnic of takeout
wings on the stone-faced tile,
watch a show on the phone, the
small screen, the slice of life in
the crumpled up page,
crammed between chapters.
Coffee at a Pennsylvania strip
mall, wander the parking lot
universe, U-Haul waiting
at the distant edge, white,
metallic bug, buzzing, and
the cat sleeps inside its maw,
uprooted alongside everything,
grab a hat, away we go.
My legs tremble from the
hundred flights, at 3 AM
my eyes leak saltwater,
so much change, so much
loss in pursuit of gentler living,
we steady each other in
the wake, walk a new city
with familiar company.
Unexpected break of the sky,
sidewalk runner, bathed in sunshine gold
and cold, heavy thrums, what
do I call this feeling, all
the emotions watercolor, makeshift
smile running in rivulets down
my cheeks, fresh skin and
open air, the humility of beginning,
the sacredness of ending.
michael king 