Movers

i saw a sign 
on the side of the highway 
advertising a moving company.
writing the 10-digit number
on the floor of my house 
summoned them, 
eight muscly men, repeating
where would you like it?
where would you like it?
i told the movers that i
wanted them to take all
my belongings & scatter them
across the country for me
to find. the men were confused
at first, looking at each other.
i said 
go on, start
& so they did, beginning with
the bed, four men lifting 
it & walking towards 
the city. i've always
felt like i have too many objects,
but this wasn't about that.
do you ever want 
to scatter yourself?
i was thinking about how 
suns/stars go super nova 
when they die
(not to compare myself 
to a sun/ star).
they look beautiful, 
a destructive electric sting
& even that goes mostly
unnoticed to the humans
who live in my town
& buy groceries
& walk their dogs. 
i guess i want to put myself
back together. i want
to drive my car all
over looking for the part
of my life i can track down.
the movers take all 
my mugs, sending them off
like boats from the north shore.
the movers throw my books
like frisbees out their 
truck's window, the spines
thawck against tree trunks
in a town up north where
the winters bury everything.
eventually, the movers 
return to tell me that 
they've finished &
i said they still have
to scatter me. exchanging 
glances they shrug & drive 
me to a small town 
in Arizona that my father
stopped in years ago. 
i lay in the desert &
ask the sun if he's thinking
of going super nova.
he shakes his head & 
buries me.