Months have been spent on the jettison –
What to pitch, how to downsize.
Sentimentality has been given no quarter.
Beds, flowerpots, side tables –
Nothing sacred, nothing beyond the swinging axe
Cutting ties to just-a-house, merely-a-town.
But things will be carried.
Wine, of course, to toast a new life,
New jobs, new perspective.
Dogs, because poodles don’t stay behind.
And ghosts will accompany them, our shadows –
Spirits carried on the long drive,
And through the unpacking of boxes.
Heard as voices ringing in their ears with advice or kibitz,
Seen as images flashing on bike rides or ski runs;
Felt in quiet moments, when
All our thoughts will be conveyed.