She pulls books from the shelf,
Unceremoniously dropping them in a cardboard box,
The movers will be there in a half hour,
And she still has to...
Wait.
What is this?
She pulls out a journal,
Leather bound, and she opens it.
Poems,
She had written them years ago,
She reads them,
Smiling as she remembers everything that happened.
Every memory re-enters her mind,
And she remembers her boyfriend,
Her teachers, her family.
She pulls out a pen, and flips to the last written page,
The date is four years from now.
She scribbles today's date in the margin of the next page
And starts to write.
She fills pages with poems before
She realizes.
How many poetic moments passed by in those four years
That she had never chronicled?
The doorbell rings,
The movers are here.
She sticks the journal in her bag,
She takes one last look at her house.
It doesn't matter that she's leaving,
She'll always remember it.
Her poems will remind her.
