Moving Day

I have moved from one house
to another with my roots dangling.
Familiar furniture huddles
in new rooms, waits to be assigned
location. Public hands lay hold
in public places of private
mementos. Carpets try to accommodate
floors, beds, blankets, pictures,
books, a shaken piano testify
to the jostle of change. We stare,
wait for the will to unravel
confusion. I am uncertain in my
new garden plot if I outgrew the old
or felt the need to be transplanted.
But I know, or think I know, how a plant
feels pulled up by its roots.