I didn’t always have these roots,

There were years that

My hands were kites

And anywhere I laid my head was my home.

And suitcases were not anomalous 

And freedom wasn’t a forced prayer in school.

 

I didn't always have these roots,

There were moments that

Spread across forever 

And made time stand still.

And what I could carry was always enough.

 

I didn't always have these roots,

There were days that

Caught the breeze 

and my youth was a blanket across the country

With train tracks 

and wheels 

and tickets to anywhere.

 

Unpacking is such a silly thing;

Hanging clothes like examined thoughts,

Folding memories and tucking them safely in a drawer,

Sweeping up the remnants of a life fully lived

And learning that there is sadness in a finished Masterpiece.