suitcase series, continued

This does not fit—– background looming “Don’t tell me WHERE“ now, staring—–blank star—-blue so vibrant hand on hip, hand on handa bellow or a sigh now a glass bridgepeeking through to the floor arms, only armshis face ragged, unshaven cramming it into—–are we home?

some new suitcase poems

7. This time, you travel alone–slowly the leaves drop his hands—rough—againstthe—impossible—silence Names, faces, how to use a forkthey vanishno words to describecardinals in trees,water slapping sand wood discolored from rainneighbors talk through gapsthe blurring vision wrap tight the bundleheld against shoulders, walking 8. Seeming heavier with each stepthe mud sticks to boots–orange clay, orange coat–his…