It is the end of winter, I’ve not yet seen spring

The landlady hails me, I hear my doorbell ring

For what will be, unbeknownst to me, the last time.

I have a box left unopened in permanence

It’s the most stable thing about my residence

As a roof can be lost at the toss of a dime.

I’ve lived here four months short of my record of ten.

I have come to expect not knowing where or when

I will find myself forced to relocate once more.

Too heavy for nomad, yet not sedentary

Just scraping past homeless, housed in uncertainty

This is nothing that I have not lived through before.

Torn away when I dare set down a single root

It’s bad luck or my poor judgment, the point is moot

I feel like I am a garden’s most hated weed.

It’s only been six months since I’ve had this dwelling

My hopes rose high enough to be good for felling

I dreamed I’d leave when wanted, yet I leave for need.

Poverty is an endless race to outrun death

New obstacles come, so you never catch your breath

There isn’t a manner to win this marathon.

A lull in the endless storm isn’t safe harbour

No matter what I do, I’m still treading water

I long for land from which I wouldn’t need move on.