helen sandler | poems


Off my chest

It's not the first time I've emptied it out:
it chugged Red Star, Madchester to the Smoke,
every year from when I left that thirties
semi till I found a place in Tottenham

to park my bottenham and then a semi
of my own.  So on and on, dragging it
downstairs or more astutely leaving it
open at the foot, chucking book after book

and armfuls of clothes down flights to land
with satisfying, filling sounds below.
Stacking, shacking, counting the moves. Till you
tell me I don't need a boarding school trunk

in my room if I'm staying for the duration
and that out-of-season clothes can be stored
in boxes and drawers, above board, below
bed. Nuff said. It's empty now for good.

When tomorrow comes I'll haul it one last
time out the front door and wait for someone
to choose it, take it, lug it up the road,
leaving me no way out. An act of faith.

© Helen Sandler 2003

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