by Sarah Joseph-Alexandre

mountains and mountains of cardboard boxes
stacked short but wide before California hills
and a finger running along all that plastic tape,
all that terribly careful packing of small things
that i could have easily left behind to start over,
if i’d only known where to properly dispose of
memories so full of parking lots and skylines.
or so the nightmare goes.
the terrible truth? I wake up unscathed,
with my life hastily thrown inside a closet,
a mysterious case of dream poisoning,
and two hands checking the topography
of a city in which the only elevations found
are the small hikes in people’s breathing.
i fall asleep listening for yours.