restricted access Making the Move
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34 Making the Move We are sitting on the floor, sorting your rock collection, sending the granite back to the earth, the mica schist to the box marked SAVE. I love the geode. Jack, I say, and mention its shine. You hold it in your palm, deciding. Outside, it’s raining, proof that no sooner do you get to know the sky than it moves on. Tomorrow the moving van arrives. Your father and I have signed the paper. This is the last day I will touch the door where I turned so many times to feed you and met myself, turning. But your voice is changing. You throw me a glance: This nostalgia’s prehistoric. You turn the geode over. What if we are nothing, I wonder, but the stones we choose to keep? Jack! I say, this time for everything we dare not throw away. You have tossed The Odyssey aside. I think of the man who never stopped moving and called it twenty years of life, remembering the chapter where he talks to his heart, how he says, Old Friend, you who have gone everywhere with me, when the testing comes, do not burst. He knew how little he could carry in his knapsack and still call it Home. He would have kept this, I think, 35 the split geode, gleaming like a hundred amethysts. As you toss it in the garbage I don’t even move to save it, the old stalwart rock, my heart, my heart. ...


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