go on go on
just walk away
go on go on
your choice is made
go on go on
and disappear
go on go on
away from here

The moving truck arrives in 34 days.

In 35 days, I will wake up in the same bed, but in a new room, in a new house, in a new city.

Almost 14 years ago, another moving truck, one driven by my then-boyfriend (who we’ll call Mr. Lame Ass, because, yep.) delivered me and my scant belongings (pastel floral 1980’s hand-me-down couch that would be soon devoured by my roommate’s wonderful but chewy chocolate lab puppy) to my first apartment here in town. He somehow backed the truck over a traffic sign on Atherton Street. I drove my Honda Civic hatchback, packed to the roof with crap, behind him, my driving arm burned beyond lobster from hanging out the window on the 6 hour drive from New Haven to central PA (How the hell big *is* this state? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?).

I brought all kinds of expectations with me. Graduate school fellowship (both kinds: financial and interpersonal) Poetry. New love post-divorce. New life. I left behind a city I loved desperately and friends who had, I felt, found the raw material of me and shaped me into the person I was becoming.

I still feel that way about the city and about all those people, my creators.

My years here changed me in even more profound ways than I could have imagined. The love that drove my moving truck did not last, but the next one–the one I found on the internet!— stuck fast and true. We will be married nine years next week. We made two fantastic humans together. They shaped me more than anything ever has. My two best poems. My Pulitzers.

More friends, more shaping. More desperate loving all over the place. So much of it, so many beautiful people and moments that I can’t even count them up anymore. I have–you’ll forgive the sentimentality, please–lived awash in love here.

And it’s time, now, to go.

Just over a month left, and my days are built around my Google Moving Calendar, which tells me each day which task I have to complete in order to not become completely overwhelmed. I have been smart this time, in scheduling “off” mornings (like this one) so I have some space to breathe and think and ponder and remember. I’ve also got time to sit with my friends over coffee and wine and just look at their gorgeous faces and try not to cry and also to cry and cry.

I’m a crier from way back and there are many tears coming, people. But not all of them are for sadness. Some of them are for excitement and relief.

I’m excited about my new job and my new city.  I’m relieved that I’m only moving 2.5 hours away.

These are my in between days.

I may be going, but I promise I’m not going to disappear.