Last day at the old home. Tomorrow we load up.
Go west, pioneer. Oregon Trail. All that.
Say goodbye to the oak groves, the fireflies of summer, and ev’rything that I know (apologies to Tom Waits)
This is not my house
These are not my closets and cabinets and drawers
My things don’t live here anymore
And neither do I
No cooking. No relaxing. Everything is boxed and stacked. My husband and I shuffle past each other like uneasy haunts.
Our daughter, though. She is stoked.