In the final stages of our move
we are in my backyard by a mushroom
outside the trailer that holds all my things
in possession of other living things.
It is chilly outside and the leaves are changing.
Inside my mother is firing the kiln
and it is warm. We are walking back and forth,
inside to out. Later,
In a Honda we move on the Hutch
back to Brooklyn. All the way to our
apartment and back again through the
night with rain. It is hard to see the lines on the road.
Tomorrow morning we'll take the train
back and our lives will be there.
-Hannah
After one year,
Life has started to recalibrate itself
All that had been shaken up
Is starting to settle
Your traces faded quickly
When you left
Small things: your bike, your broken chin, your ratty hair, the sound of your feet
Remained present even when we moved
From time to time it was fun
To imagine you as an old man
To imagine how you lived your life
For one whole year, I never once saw your room
How did you feel
How could you have felt
-KM
