My arms are full of boxes heavy with my heartfelt memories.

I look at the darkened windows that feel like a medical flat line

The front porch light that once greeted my arrival is turned off.

The driveway where my children created Michelangelo is barren

The study window from which I witnessed the drama of “Oak Tree Living”

Looks nakedly back at me without holding the allure it once did.

I turn my back to face a new adventure brought to me by U-Haul.

With teary resolution and no tag-backs, I whisper to the sunrise,

“Goodbye my lovely haven. Good day my place of rest.

Whomever crosses your threshold, may they be ever blessed.”