Suitcase


I live from myself like a suitcase,
Withdrawing my accessories each day.

When I was younger I used to be less
Careful: I’d swing from rope
To rope, a regular at the circus;
I didn’t mind the stumbles,
Without a net, the ride was more
Exciting.

The crowd would howl with glee
To watch me lose my grip,
Then I would somersault backwards,
Into the arms of
Death, but he would never catch me.

I’d get up and pack myself back
Into my vinyl case,
All ten thousand of me; no
One ever understood, but
My tiny house still stirred
With voices.

I am the center of the earth,
A seed thrust
Downward into the dark.
Tomorrow, I’ll be a rusty branch, or
A filament of string woven into some
Love bird’s nest,
It’s all the same to me.