We all- carry luggage across every street we cross
in conversations with each person we meet
can’t see it under your fancy microscope
out of view from your telescope
it’s not a star shining bright
or a molecule deep inside
it’s our outdated calendars.
I see how heavy your bags are, heavier than the next
and I love you more than the next
so I’ll carry the weight
just to soften yours
you say
it’s not my responsibility
this is my burden to bury
the shovel was handed to me by my weaknesses
shouted to dig and dig and bury my former self
with this forty pound lug next to the old me
shriveled and shaken and not ready to exit
but for me to exist
it can’t.
I helped an older lady unload her car
full of boxes with labels on the side
she was saying her grandson was late
but will be here shortly
and that she was grateful
she tried to give me money
but I couldn’t take it-
at first.
You can’t see it
but my luggage is hidden-
on an unmarked street corner
with an old family blanket covering it,
was evicted the other day
and I want to move in with you
share plates and stories and towels
bury our faces in noodles and cheap wine
this luggage isn’t heavy, when carried by two
those flights of stairs
aren’t so scary
no need to fret extra scuff marks and falling items
can just move in
right into my heart.
Saint's Muse 