30 day poetry challenge, day 9

Moving

Boxes tower in the living room,

The cat pads around the kitchen,

His tuxedo face voicing quiet concern,

It’s his home too, after all.

We stay at my grandmother’s house,

A halfway house for the soul,

A step in the right direction,

But not much more.

At last we reach our new house,

It’s cold, empty, impersonal,

The daunting task of making a life remains.

The years on and lots has changed,

The house has morphed, changed, evolved,

And, perhaps, so have we.

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