final boxes are stacked in a van

an almost empty home stands

unaware that its inhabitants will leave

tomorrow. on a clouded, gray morning

gutters will fill with rain

no one will notice when leaves fall and clog,

and water leaks through the roof

and no one will notice that the token of this home,

a small flower picked by their child,

was forgotten. a small yellow thing,

that now lies, crumpled, on a bedroom floor