Pack it all up in boxes,
there, there you go,
some things you need,
some things you care for,
neatly tucked away.
But it isn’t the stuff I’m not taking that I’ll miss,
so much as the memories clung to them like Spring Breeze fabric freshener
that I cannot imitate in any other season of my lifetime.
So if I go away,
I cannot take with me
the exhale I take before stepping into my bedroom
the frayed line of carpet in the hall I always hop over
the fridge door handles massaging between my shoulder blades
the height of the bathroom sink at my hips
the width of floor where wizards once flew
the board games we made up
or when I could play them with you
the walls we washed while acting as dinosaurs
the sticks outside we used for swords
the imaginary house built from opened cupboard doors
the time we pretended to be a centaur, galloping up the stairs
all of us crowded in the bathroom when you accidentally smashed that lightbulb with a ball
the safe spaces and toe holds for when the floor turns to lava
the hiding places for dolls and ponies
the size of you climbing to reach above the doorway for the bedroom key
the chairs that became an island in the sea–
it won’t be forever.
tons of people do this all the time.
But I don’t know
how to leave
this springtime I can’t take with me.
Check out my buy me a pizza page for more:)