From the poetry collection published in 2015, Look Winter in the Face.
The moving van arrives at the house
the men jump out of the cab
not caring that
your house is a stranger to you
after today it’s your home no more.
Whatever’s ever happened here
it’s all the same
to the movers. You stand
trying not to get in the way
holding back instructions not to scratch the table or
drop the lamps
and all the while you feel
that piercing lonely slicing
right through your stomach fiercer now.
All your things crammed into the moving truck
while you watch
Kitchen table uncomfortable on top of the sofa
box of books jammed in too tight between and
it’s all just wrong
The movers slam the truck doors shut
you have no choice but to close
the door to the house
and turn away