Moving Apartments
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.
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