My sister moved her furniture last night,
rotated her bed to face the door,
shoved her shelves into angular formations
across the fake hardwood floors.
She sat on her bed, out of breath,
to show me her new computer,
the hard drive she found under her bed,
the DVD's her boyfriend gave her,
every positive change she could think of
to show me that in this time of alteration
and rearrangement, there is growth.
We might be moving soon.
My mom into a house, and me
into my own apartment. We might be,
but we might not. It's still up in the air,
flying around above us like a buzzing fly
that we cannot catch.
Everything is changing, but at the same time,
we are standing still. Everything is changing,
growing and shrinking, happening around me
instead of to me.
I wonder when it will feel real.
When will it hit me
like a fly swatter on a wall?
When will the buzzing finally settle?
When will we catch the fly?
YOU ARE READING
These People and I
PoetryThis year for National Poetry Writing Month, I want to challenge myself by mostly writing about people I wouldn't normally write about. This could include people from my past, present, or even future. I'll be adding a new poem by midnight each day i...
