We wrangled noiselessly.
It’s not as if a recorder needs to hum.
The clocks taught us into existence.
In the painting of a mock funeral, we intercept traffic.
Our dog stayed, we have our housing flexibility.
Broke amounts gamboled and stolen.
While wealth peels off, a tiny button falls off tablecloth.
My father closes the door,
scared he will wake me from sleep,
a thesis in congested paper web in my headache.
Above a small stiff sheet of white bedroom.
In painting impracticalities coming nearer out of time.
Fixed or moving furniture of step by step,
he takes off with his boxes.
It came to me then.
It was time for the move but my dad didn’t suit plans.
From the summer on the coast to the west winds.
- Samantha Seto 2013
Samantha has been published in various anthologies including Ceremony, Soul Fountain, Blue Hour, Carcinogenic Poetry, and Black Magnolias Journal. She studies creative writing and is a third prize poet of the Whispering Prairie Press.