Letting Go

by Abigail Rudibaugh

I stood in disbelief
at the painted blue tea cups
shattered on the pavement,
now only steeping
my sudden, unexpected tears.

I had plans for these
consigned china treasures
to be divine reminders
to rest even in the heaps
of moving mess.

We had just put our whole
life into straight-edge boxes
and tiptoed to the orchestrated:
“That’s fragile!
Watch your step.”
.
Now further up the river,
I’m in a store parking lot
trying to pick up pieces
of shattered glass
I only owned for five minutes.

It’s true, I’ve kept so much
from falling.  I held tight
our boxed possessions like
I held our dear friends
as we said our goodbyes.

We stored up a lot of life
lived on those familiar roads.
But it’s not until the brand
new-to-me mugs fall,
I see they’re no longer mine to hold.

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