Strewn across your apartment

is eighty plus

years of life.


Broken down and

boxed up is

what is left for you,

what you can fit,

what you can keep.


Old hands

pluck memories from

piles and boxes

trying to sequester them

and save them.


Old mouths

take tangents

in their story’s

to memory’s of

those passed


Old eyes

look sad

over moving boxes

but happy

at the plane ahead.