Weeks of

                                                      Of packing

                                              memories. Tears shed

                                          for all the years. Boxes

                                    filled, ready to go. The door  opens

                             and a new life begins. Smaller space, but

                            It’s mine, to do as I wish, to sleep when I                             

                              want and to dress as I desire. Emotions

                              changing daily as the boxes are unpacked,           

                              pictures hung on my walls. My walls. The       

                              words alone sound so nice. Time passes

                              and the boxes reappear. This time packed

                              with a different vigor. Excitement instead

                              of regret. Quickly I pack the boxes for a

                              new moving day.

                                                               I

                                                              am

                                                           Finally

                                                           home!

Concrete Poem by Wendy Locklear