Moving

I think of all the moves we've made
while you've stayed in one place:
the ones where all we moved were clothes
(and a desk for me to write on)
and the ones where we went shopping
to buy all those exciting things we'd need
to furnish a second home;
the couches that we left behind
or carted off for someone else to use,
and the cats -- always the cats --
who never quite adjusted to the changes,
but howled, or sulked,
or hid beneath the beds;
who crouched cross-eyed beside computer monitors,
or sprawled on keyboards, knowing
they could count on our returning
to that illuminated altar.

Ah, the sacrifices made for change:
for kids not doing well in school,
for jobs that ate our time
or cut us off and let us go...
We drank the intoxication of new beginnings,
tasted or left behind the bread of friendship,
all in the sacred pursuit of a home
that could gracefully house the gifts and opportunities
that we kept hoping might arise.
And I remember how strange
the first night in each new place,
the terror and anxiety that followed each new change,
and lying in a sleeping bag
on a bare floor in an empty room
and wondering as the cat curled by my feet
if the choices we had made were wise
or foolish...