we are thinking of moving in the spring..
so i look around the yard for what i might take with me.
i can leave the garden, perhaps take a plant or two,
and the planter box most definitely, it's from my brother.
and the water barrel from my dad
and of my mother, all i have are these hands
that plant the seeds into the soil.
my sisters are beckoning me
the white tipped tops of mountains calling..
before we make the move i must go sailing
to find the place where the sun sets
to put my mind at ease.
when my mother left, she took time with her
as if she was the only one keeping count.
the days no longer exist if not on paper
minutes no longer pass without the digits on the wall.
so this is freedom..