Her mom called from the steps, “almost ready?”
“Yes, mom!” she glanced around the room at the boxes.
Pieces of her childhood were scattered about;
She focused solely on the bag labeled, “stuffed animals.”
Today was her fourteenth birthday
As well as the day she moved four hours south of nowhere.
She stared for longer.
The first teddy bear a two-week boyfriend had given her
“hurry up! We have to beat traffic!”
A stuffed dog with a “too cute” collar from her mom.
Three small plush hearts she won at an arcade.
“What’s the point?” she thought,
Shouldn’t she move on?
She tied up the bag and winced, remembering tea-party buddies
And shoulder’s to cry on,
And threw the bag over her shoulder.
“Coming, mom!” she passed movers and grinned
While feeling a lump grow in her throat.
“Is all of that garbage? Did I not tell you to have your room clean?”
“It’s not garbage.”
She walked out of the garage and lifted up the trashcan lid
Tossing the bag in. “Can we leave now? I think I’m ready.”
They climbed into the truck and drove away.