Losing them, fixing them, forgetting to put them in
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The young couple and their two small sons
Drive from the city to pay for and take the keys
To my old family Volvo — a car, like a house,
Full of memories, full of departures and returns.
They swarm inside as if it were a hive,
The children bouncing on the seats, the mother admonishing.
Though I’d anticipated sadness, their joy overcomes me,
The joy of something new and unfamiliar, the history
That will begin with their journey back to where they live.
The husband pulls away from the curb, and the wife
Follows in the car they drove so far to get here
With their cargo of kids and a cooler full of food.
The last vestige of our marriage: I imagined I would cry,
but I smile and wave from the front steps in early summer
As they drive away, amazed at their good luck.