PART I
I folded over the table
where I was folding newsprint paper
around a picture of something
I wanted to hold onto.
But I couldn’t; I folded it tighter
hugging my fist wrapped picture
to my forehead,
but the tears just came anyway.
It was a picture of a toddler
in a tiny swimsuit
with safety bubble on her back
by a swimming pool.
She is carefully guiding the pool skimmer pole
with her little hands
gathering those annoying bits of leaves and fly parts
that she doesn’t want to swim with--
--little master of her domain.
A sweet moment captured in a frame
a symbol of all the moments I am holding onto.
***
PART
II
I have held onto so many things.
There are millions of emblems
bouncing around me.
with their nagging little voices:
Remember me, Love me, Save me;
receipts, old financial papers—
how long do I keep these?,
pictures of everyone I ever knew,
a broken demitasse cup—
a little glue and it would be like new;
an earring missing a pearl—
surely I can find a little pearl to restore it--
handmade baby clothes—
really? Do I need handmade baby clothes??
***
PART
III
This moving thing is not just about packing:
save, give away, trash. Oh no, it’s much more than that.
At my age, I am jettisoning huge tracts of my life,
entire chapters in the shredder, debris down the drain.
Is there any reason to be reminded of any of it anyway?
I shall relegate all memories to that “Where did I put my
keys?”
region of the brain.
Their work is done. Those
memories made me.
I need not carry their detritus
around with me anymore.
I need not trail a dust cloud of
impertinent minutia.
It is time to fly the coop, leave
the nest
of accumulated possessions and
lessons learned
and just be.
So I can just go…
***
PART
IV
Each successive move, I strip more away.
In both possessions and memories.
Soon I will be living in a hut.
Thinking about the present.
