Wednesday, April 16, 2014



You see them in old Westerns,
blowing across a dusty road.

Their roots aren’t planted in soil
but curled up so they roll along
wherever the wind might take them.

If we move away from here,
I won’t be from Marshfield
or from Massachusetts.

I won’t be from anywhere—
         just a tumbleweed
                  blowing across a dusty road.

                                       from Moving Day: Poems about Moving

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