My son left home last week to move into his own apartment. I'm thrilled that he can support himself and make it on his own. At the same time, I'm missing his company. He took some stuff with him - a dining table and chairs, a bedside cabinet, a lot of books. He left some stuff behind - his old desk, his twin bed, a lot of books. He took his integrity and his independence and his sense of humor. He left behind the nightly burp and fart show while his parents eat dinner and watch Jeopardy on television.
My daughter got a cat last week. She has been on her own for 10 years and I'm delighted that she has some company in her apartment. I'm calling him my "grand-kitty".
Here is a poem about moving on:
Moving Day
Scraps and small reminders said the scissors to the shelf
Why do I feel empty said the oven to itself
Some of us are hungry said can opener to tin
Tell me said the radio how much you want to win
And take us along when you go.
All the way from Thailand said the topmost row of cans
Rise and turn around again explained the standing fan
None of us are broken said the tumblers to the towel
Scratch me up or polish me said banister to dowel
And take us along when you go.
When they come to get you said a carton to its box
Count your lucky hours said a doorjamb to its locks
Will she will he will she sang the plumbing to the void
Did you mean to build me will I ever be destroyed
Carpet said to ceiling Can I offer any more
Nothing I can give you said the lintel to the door
You always overlook me said the baseboard to the stair
Board games valise said the attic and a folding chair
And take us along when you go.
Stephen Burt
