Walking Away

Before leaving
there is time
to look around
and dust off
all that
happened.
The overgrown rubber tree
where whistling bulbuls hid,
the rose that showed up
occasionally, in the spike
of thorns, the stealthy monkeys
that created a racket
tearing plants and tossing pots
and the sun that made its way
to warm the floor
that bore betrayals,
and all that was never meant to be
would be left behind
by the packers and movers
Maybe, the air of the new home
would waft a swift kindness
to dissolve
the sharpness of memories