put it on the curb

i asked her
what she did with
all of her belongings,
the things she
didn't want to take
with her to her new
condo in the city.
there was so much
to get rid of in that
house. and she
told me that she put
it all on the curb.
one day a mattress,
the next day a dresser.
a lamp went next.
a few blouses that
she never wore anymore,
running shoes and heels,
the old tv from
the basement. and
slowly cars would
stop and load
up their trunks
picking through
the debris of her life
now changing.
one day, she said,
she sat out there
in her dad's
old favorite chair,
with the springs
coming out of
the cushions,
reading one of his
favorite books, for
whom the bell tolls,
and someone picked
up the entire chair
with her in it and she
ended up on a farm
in iowa. she was
sitting on a butter
churn for days,
at the curb until
someone picked it
up and brought her
home, the book still
in her hand.