This place is already
packed up, boxed into
sections, spaces,
-new years eve, 2005–
-july, 2008–
a box bull of scars,
healed over and
still visible.
-a new puppy–
-a piece of jewelry
i thought i’d pass down–
-winter boots that
never quite fit–
i have already moved;
departed from this place.
from the smell of
the factory up the
long road to the highway;
from the sound of a train
engine coming to a halt.

i have boarded up the
window that stayed open
all summer long.

i am folded in newspapers
and set aside, to be opened
again and emptied out.


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