The Mayflower Sails
Under a tall cottonwood tree that grows along the curb...
two burly men stand next to a giant truck, and smoke one last cigarette...
They inhale one final puff, before climbing aboard.
Trails of smoke intermingle with the white puffs of cotton, that drift from the tree...
The moving van wears a big red proclamation "Mayflower"...
....a big, white, dinosaur, that seems so out of place, parked along my street.
I grab her hand as we watch the driver start the motor...
,and soon the truck slowly lumbers down the road.
It turns the corner, and disappears out of sight.
In that massive monster, things were neatly stacked.
Cardboard boxes, securely taped, memories neatly packed
A part of her history, and mine, ...are transported away.
Years of a sisterhood, a bonding
A friendship, like none that either of us had known before.
Fresh faced, young, and with great expectations, our first meeting was long ago.
Charmed lives, of husbands, children, homes, car-pools, PTA meetings.
A sharing of troubles, joys, the celebrations, the sorrows.
Today those memories are taking a journey, tucked away on that truck.
Chicken-pox that her Michael gave my son.
My favorite chicken casserole recipe that became her family's favorite too.
My shoulder for her tears, when cancer was feared.
Little talks, over a painted white fence, that started our days,
....And ended them too.
We grew into womanhood together, side by side.
And now, her husband, patiently waits by their car,
Giving her one last moment, her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
Mine sting too...but I had promised I wouldn't cry...so I don't.
A quick hug.. "Yes...we'll write...we'll visit...we'll call!"
She walks to her packed car, turns once more with that
familiar smile, the same little wave, that she gave me
on that very first morning, as she stood at her mailbox.
She jumps in next to her waiting husband.
He starts the engine, and soon their car is heading down the street,
that is no longer her street.
Around the turn at the corner,
that is no longer her corner,
She is gone.
Tomorrow the SOLD sign comes down.
Perhaps a new wave, another smile, someone gathering mail
.... will brighten my day.
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008
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