some new suitcase poems

7.

This time, you travel alone–
slowly the leaves drop

his hands—rough—against
the—impossible—silence

Names, faces, how to use a fork
they vanish
no words to describe
cardinals in trees,
water slapping sand

wood discolored from rain
neighbors talk through gaps
the blurring vision

wrap tight the bundle
held against shoulders, walking

8.

Seeming heavier with each step
the mud sticks to boots–
orange clay, orange coat–
his hat hangs on the rack

Yesterday whispers
whimpers against progress
standing still, your steadiness
long—-long-ing—slow
trees trace jagged sky
a tree—house

She called herself—–
small voice–squealing
behind slatted doors–
creeping light across horizon

9.

You leave a stone to mark each step

songs filter

fog fills————–you cut

this—not wanting—to live

shadows accumulate against
moments anger overwhelmed

coral lipstick, pearl earrings

names tangle————slip

hands on wheel,
cracking boards

breath falls sideways

a slow quiver against
hard edges of solitude

distance between here and ——–

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