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.”