Today I moved into a new house marking the end of a full summer long move, and while I’m too jumbled to offer you a full post or even any post before eleven o’clock at night, Pacific Time, I’ll still give you a bit of that mess in a first draft poem. This day is too sweet, too sweaty and too dense with work and joy to not record at least a few lines.
Tomorrow and the next day and the weeks ahead
I will open box after box and again,
tunneling through our past, unwrapping:
my grandmother’s plates,
pictures of my once pink, rubberband-wristed babies,
and so, so many books I’ve read or meant to.
How do you know you’re home?