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Poem: To Help Her Move

 

 

To Help Her Move

 

She is told I’m like an elephant

and calls on me to help her move,

to burden her dressers and boxes to the truck

and out of the truck to her new locked door.

 

She is separating

from the bearded happy farmboy of her wedding.

 

I am alone.  My back is strong.

I look for weight.

 

I take the box springs

and carry it over my head, my arms extended

as if it had a message for someone to read.

 

At the truck, I slide it on its side

into the crevice in the furniture

and return upstairs to dismantle more.

 

 

Patrick T. Reardon

1.16.19

 

 

Originally published in What It Can’t Save (Pudding Magazine), 1986

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