I set the last of the brown boxes
on the floor in the living room
of the vacant farm home.
The movers had two trips to make,
most of which they’d removed on the first.
I didn’t want to be here,
but I needed closure.
Maybe it was a little selfish,
but Grandma forced it upon me.
I put the family portraits
into orange bins with black lids.
The bare walls made my skin crawl.
The memories once hung left
a bad taste in my mouth
boxed for safekeeping.
I stood there, resting my hands
on my hips, for a moment,
admiring the emptiness
and eerie silence that filled the air.
The wooden floorboards creaked
as I shifted my weight,
and I couldn’t help but think of
the memories that we made here.
If the showers let up,
the movers said they’d pick up
the kitchen table this afternoon.
The thick, dark clouds knitted over the sun.
Rain pattered against the tin roof.
The glee of finished work turned sour
when I pictured my family sitting there.
Grandma’d shake a crisp maroon
cloth over the circular table.
It draped to even lengths.
It’s empty and crowded.
I can see the smiles
that I’d fixed on faces
happy about more than
just the next life.
But present and happy
in what doesn’t turn to stone.
The gold baked into moments
of an easy glance
with a firm embrace
meant more to me
than what tomorrow
had to bring.
I observed people
spill their guts
to the listener’s
heart’s content.
The chair squeaked
as I pulled one out
and lowered to the seat.
I rested my elbows on the table
and folded my hands as if to pray.
I blinked back tears,
making them fall faster,
dripping off my chin
and landing on the oak table before me.
I looked around to find
anyone to explain my pain.
My eyes traveled to the corner.
Grandma made me stand in the corner
before and after I did my chores.
That wall still has the same cracks
only they’re painted over, still there
just hidden, but only I could point
out the tan indentions with the naked eye.
I returned to the present
and I pictured the set table
and homemade bread
with pasta.
Grandma’d place three glasses
with each plate for each person.
We’d have milk, juice, and water.
She’d arrange napkins, a fork, a knife,
and a spoon for everyone.
I lifted my gaze out of my haze.
I pictured them all around the table,
asking me how my life was
and what I’d planned for Cassie’s birthday.
We exchanged gift ideas.
A smile faded as Grandma’s face did.
Mom called to tell me that Grandma was gone.
It was just like her to leave before I arrived.
I laughed hard, staring at the corner.
I saw what Grandma wanted me to see.
I observed the creative side of me.