so hard to leave even a fern behind.
in the end you want to dig up the very earth surrounding the former place
that you hated a little at the beginning.
what is it that binds us so irrevocably over slow time and the seasons unfolding
to each new shell we learn to live in very well
that when we must pull up stakes
we go through such a hell
and feel once deposited in the next new place or approximation of it
with only the coffee and the teaspoons out
we left our only soul behind
and must now make do with the shadow of it.
mary angela douglas 16 april 2021
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