After the movers left, I wandered from room to room, reading the boxes, the unfamiliar scrawls of strangers inventorying the stuff our lives. What had taken years to put together--a home--took hours to pack away. I found the poetry of the labels moving, somehow. And then the boxes were moved, put away into storage. My things will wait for their next home. So will I. It might be years before I see the beloved things again. So be it.