Move In Day

Inside the stairs are full of fire. Outside the clouds are full of storm. The caravans clog every path. The boxes move in jumbling herds. The steps, they drip with rain and sweat. The stairs are endless and vicious red. Backs are strained. Cars are waiting to get out. A fridge moves at speeds unheard of. A giant takes totes two by two. A student tries not to pass out. The room, the tiny little room, is filled and filled and filled. A trash can makes a happy thud the last of endless junk. Victory. A room is full. With clothes and books and family not yet set to leave. It storms and spits and lightning flashes. The valuables are safe inside. Hugs and goodbyes, hugs and goodbyes, hugs and goodbyes. They leave. A little bit of sadness. Worry. Hot. So many hot bodies. Hot in cramped halls. So many stairs, so many boxes. Sweaty. Multiple showers taken. The unpacking is undone. That’s for another day. For now there are greetings greetings, hellos, how are you. A walk with friends in the night. A talk on a porch. Lots of smiling. The bed is creaky. The bed is unknown. It takes too long to sleep. Morning comes. Classes come. Stress comes. Worries and cares and sickness. A week of wondering if you can. A week ends. Homework conquered. A laundry mountain flattened. First call home: “I’m doing fine.” Weeks pass by. Worry fades. Unpacking is completed. The bed is too comfortable. Cruelly comfortable. Getting up in the morning is hard. Leaving in the morning is hard. Leaving home is hard. Until you come home again.