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Boxes
Boxes boxes boxes
I always wanted to move
All three of us, not just me and you
But I’m glad and thankful too
That’s just us two
Boxes between houses, half of my clothes here, half of them there
Two roofs, two beds, two rooms, two homes
Did the box’s know their purpose?
Did the boxes with previous labels know
They would be moving a single mother and daughter
Will the next owners of the boxes know the past of what now boxes up their home?
After they move things from mine to another
Boxes boxes boxes
Go around and around
Each dent, each writing of Sharpie
Tell a story
The boxes pack up my life, my mother's, and the people and children before
Boxes boxes boxes
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I wrote this after looking at the moving boxes and observing them. The tear-stained cardboard, the labels crossed off, ready for another person to use. There is so much to think about when looking at the boxes that now box up my home and the countless other people that they have helped. Maybe the boxes are the hero?