Seven Turns to Get There


when everyone wishes
the dark clouds
hanging heavy and low for so long
would get it over with already and break open,

I drive to the consignment shop
with the bottom half of a hutch
I have held onto too long
or not long enough
or just the right amount of time.
Maybe I don’t need to judge that.

It had come to rest
in a dark corner of the family room
where I didn’t need to look at it all the time.
I used it for overflow storage,
a term that suggests to me
I am carrying through life
more than I need.

It is seven turns to get there.
After the fifth,
off Dutchmans Lane,
I check my rearview for Wally’s car
carrying the top half.

I thought I could manage it all myself
with just a little help loading –
two men wait at the other end to unload –
but the thing was too wide
or too deep
or too long by a hair
for my small car.

So inefficient,
two cars going to the same place,
but maybe even this is a form of grace.

There is something about the feel
of my hands on the wheel
each turn,
like I am owning the conveyance.
Perhaps he needs that, too.
Maybe grace comes at times
in the form of circumstances that force things
and I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

Paperwork complete,
I head home
with nothing more
than the blanket I had used as cushioning,
not needed now.

Two drops on the windshield, then a downpour.
I turn the wipers to high speed,
which, being a shy person,
I rarely use.

And after that, relief.

Backstory: The Small Hutch

About Marilyn

Reading, thinking, listening, writing and talking about faith, creativity, ESL for refugees, grief and finding the story in a story. Student of Spanish. Foe of procrastination. Cheez-it fan. People person with hermit tendencies or vice-versa. Thank you so much for reading.
This entry was posted in letting go, traveling light. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Seven Turns to Get There

  1. pastordt says:

    SO glad you linked to the back story, too. Together, a beautiful story. Thank you.

    Liked by 1 person

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