01 02 03 Prone to Wander: She decided it was time, so she started small. 04 05 15 16 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 31 32 33

She decided it was time, so she started small.

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On a hot July afternoon she gathered up
a few of the smaller things—loaded them in the trunk
of her car and drove them to the recycling bin,
10 minutes down the road.

She tossed them in, one by one.
They clinked, and the bored
attendant with a cigarette hanging from his lips just nodded.
She brushed off her hands and drove home—
A little lighter.

Later that day, 
they came back. 
Slithered into the front seat, this time.
Glaring, accusing, haunting.
She entertained them all, let them stay, and even invited more.
Until
One crisp November afternoon a few years later
she couldn’t take them any longer.

She found them all,
threw them back into the trunk
of her car and drove them to the dump,
45 minutes down the road.

As she tried to pull one out, it would not budge.
The attendant walked over, dark haired and muscular, and lifted them
out, one by one.
She held onto one side and he, the other, and on a 1-2-3
they threw them into the dump.
As they clinked, she clung to him. 

Finally, with every single one of them in the dump,
She stood up too quickly and dizziness overcame her for a minute--
Just a minute.

She fell to her knees, slowly stood back up, looked around.
The attendant smiled at her, sweat glistening from his arms and face.
A slow smile spread across her lips,
and then she closed the trunk, brushed off her hands,
and drove home.
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