Poetry: "Beginning Again" by Susan J. Mitchell

Furniture, boxes, my very breath lay

in an SUV, its back door a mouth open

wide as if gasping for air.

There is a sofa on my shoulders

and spider webs on my tongue.  Those who

provided the muscle during this undertaking

smile, proud of accomplishing a tremendous

feat: moving everything left of my life

in three hours.

I step back into the apartment, see what

remains. This part of life is

moving much faster than I prefer. 

I wish the world could stop,

give me back my son and

let me meander through the city of

This Won’t Happen to Me

the rest of my days.

I don’t like being shoved into

It Just Happened Anyway

without a passport. I hear Customs is difficult

to go through when you have no ID.

Maybe, I could take a plane and

ask them to drop me off in

I Don’t Want to be Here Anymore. 

I hear the weather is hot, mosquitos

are relentless and I will not like it there.  

Someone calls to me from outside. 

It is time to go.

Time to take the last load

before the rain begins,

then off to get pizza in Let’s Pretend

to Celebrate a Job Well Done.