On the day before my last
day of work I thought I should
clear the coffee cups off my
desk.

To do:
1.Organize each tilting cabinet,
clean out every jamming drawer. 
2. Wipe the moisture rings off
the expensive greige veneer
I hate. 
3. Dust my shelf, erase
tiny smudge of footprints,
the last vestiges of my
King Kong action figure. 
4. Pretend I’ve never been here

I should clean the slate.  

I should write a note, thanking my boss, 
my friends, my partners in arms.

Action Item:
Unveil a custom cake, pithy saying on grocery 
store buttercream, lurid and sweating beneath
its plastic dome. Just leave it on the table. No 
pomp, no circumstance. Play it cooler than 
the fridge you yanked this from.  

I should take the pay raise and stay.
I could still ask, negotiate my terms. 
Remain stuck in a winding web, convincing 
myself I hardly ever see the spider anyway. 

Action Item: 
Forget previous action item. 

I could live in fear of new beginnings. 
Tremble, shrink away from new
steps on a new path. I could trudge
my tired road, again,  sun casting 
old shadows back across my heels
like knives.  

To Do: (ammended) 
1. Leave right at 5:00 
2. Coffee for commute home, and
to the side, a single serving of cake.
3. When the barista calls your name, 
take the order. Take a Deep breath.

We are always in the midst of leaving. 

4. Salt over my shoulder. Medalion. Warding spell. 

Anything. Everything’s a prayer now. 

5. Forget I’ve ever been here