you climb into the car, suitcase in trunk
quart of milk beside you, it’s June
the milk will spoil, who cares
you back out the drive
the movers pause
eye you, continue down the walk — sofa
dresser, beds — inside, your mother
doesn’t know you’re going, won’t know
until the van is packed
too late
right on Laurel, left on Van Dien
right on Grove, after three turns
where to go? the smell of your car
unfamiliar roads
it’s a start
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