The bag of paintings

And so the left-right strides toward good-byes

Had begun. The first farewell left the bag 

Of paintings I had planned as a graduation gift

That I would give out with a piece of myself

Enclosed in heartfelt cards. The procession starts

And never stops. Scroll by scroll, piece by piece,

I must return what I owe to the place that 

Carefully logged the visitors of the past four years.

People who come and go, with the promise of same time

Same place, now are lost forever when we wave

For the last time tonight.

Have a piece of me, carry my art 

With you as you would carry the devastating shard 

Of a newly inflicted memory. Don’t leave

Me without a backward glance. Show me that the years

Have left a mark. Let me cradle that fact

And nurse it alone with tears that try to blur

The new day away and prolong this moment these

Final hours of the routine I loved so much

I had taken it for granted.