Leaving

The packing boxes start out empty,
but slowly fill as I place my
past inside it.
All my life suddenly shoved in
little boxes to be moved across
hills and mountains,
rivers and valleys
to start some place new.

"You'll be able to make new friends,"
"You'll see new places," they said.
But what if I don't want to?
I like my friends,
I like my places,
I don't want new ones.
When we leave
I press my face against

the cold glass of the car window
and,
as my vision blurs,
watch my life disappear behind me.

by Leela Bilow