Déménagement
by Christine Adams Beckett
There are spaces we occupy,
We nomadic tribes, picking
Up and leaving the eroded
Ground behind us,
Touching each and every
Possession twice, at origin,
Destination, judging
The beauty, the utility
Of an object.
The original purchase of
Sacred ground, from
The raised open palm of
The Wyantenock to
Transplanted Englishmen
At the peaceful source of
A river, ushered forth
A revolution,
As does mine: yet altogether
More personally. I cast off
The ill-advised blouse, the
Vacuum that never worked;
But I carry your letters,
My own hand-written
Epistolary memoir,
With me, like the bleached
Bones of our dead.
Love this one