Member-only story
Luggage
I gotta leave
Pack me my favorite hat,
the dirty, sweat-stained one from Georgetown,
the one you keep trying to “clean”.
I always found it again,
mysteriously fallen into the recycling.
Pack me the knife I am always sharpening,
and don’t forget your head shake and the half-sigh/half-laugh
as I sharpen it for the thousandth time,
fore one never knows, when it could come in handy.
Pack me the t-shirt I wore
when she came into our lives,
and I held her,
stains from your insides
and my tears of revelation
Pack me the bottle that has seen countless miles,
missing the loop for its lid,
bringing us Monetzumas revenge,
I swear it wasn’t the bottle.
Pack me your smile
in the sunbeams of that chapel
all those years ago,
Promising me that my fears would be allayed
and that home was,
finally,
where the heart is.
