Page 19 - Packing for the Apocalypse
P. 19
THE LEFT BEHIND
POEM 8
When you remove a loved object from its place On the wall, on a shelf, in the corner of the room, Put it in a Go Bag, or zippered form of transport To smother there alone amongst other uprooted Possessions become – not members of the family Home, not part of the ground of your daily being Or features of the comfort of your life, but things To be hauled, packed, forgot, stacked and taken Or not, as time allows. They are now the Chosen. Cut from the flock. Marked, To Go, like food in a Bag or something waiting for an unknown fate or A thing you, in the rush, with all your love, forgot.
Meanwhile, unpacked, on the walls, the shelves, The drawers, the corners, the rest of the friendly Gang of familiars that form the context in which We settle ourselves, will become the left behind. In the acceptance of choice, the act of choosing, The process of selection, the unity of home dies. This? Yes. That? No. Then, weeks later, still, we Wait and wonder if, when we must go, the No’s Sitting on the wall, on the shelf in the corner, Know.
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