As I load the van a second time today,
I realize that moving, for one like me,
Is just transporting the debris of my broken life
from one place to another and then hiding
it from myself.
This load goes to the landfill.
My daughter’s crib can go.
Why did I keep that?
A box of carefully packed framed photos
of the wedding.
I will see the goodness of the Lord
in the land of the living…
Some kids toys that didn’t fit in this house
ended up becoming squirrel habitat
in the shed.
Oh, God, why didn’t you kill me
three years ago when I was blissfully ignorant??
I know I shouldn’t treasure anything
in this life, but my family
was a treasure.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I don’t want to be alone.
I’m sick of helping people.
I’m sick of my fake surreal life.
I want out.
Where is my breakthrough?
I’m trying to come to terms
with your bringing everything to term.
I don’t know what’s going on in this womb of despair.
I just want out.
God, I hate my life. I hate it.
I know you’re in this, somewhere.
I know you have a plan,
or I wouldn’t still be here.
I take another walk down the road
that crosses behind my house.
I look out across the fields through tears
at farms of people I don’t know.
I cry and snot…
I’m shouting at You in the middle of the road,
out across the fields.
If anyone is around I’m sure they think I’m crazy.
Maybe I am.
Three tissues weren’t enough for this walk.
I’d better return to the house.
It’s not home. I’m homeless now.
Any house without a helpmate
is not home.
Daddy, I know you’re a jealous cuss.
I know you don’t want me to want this
near as strongly as I do.
But you can’t hold me at night or fall asleep
drooling on my chest.
I’m tired. I hate this. I hate me.
Everything is so gray and tasteless.
I can’t even sleep anymore.
Won’t you at least let me sleep??
God, I hate moving…