Switching Rooms

So now my room is only half mine,

my books are in his room, the one

that will be mine.  His books are

in the room I’m in, where my

desk still is, my closet jammed

with clothes, old stereo system

playing favorite CD’s, paintings

of groups of women on the wall.

We are cleaning with micro-

fiber cloths for each other, right

down to the baseboards—and

I try not to think about the next

move—the one after this, after

retirement, some years away. 

Yet, I can’t help but wonder

when will that big move will be—

the one where we downsize

or go to a senior care living—

center –do we have 12 years

more here?  Fifteen?  Twenty?

Then the task will be more

donating, more discarding,

more letting-go than we

seem to be doing today.