new suitcase poems

11.

Keys lost [----] ago--
edges fray, you mend

summer of building---

how it all comes
a --- part
that parting finality

it echoed silent
cold-------

Nothing in the right place
walls patterned wildly
she----once blonde

It---all---lost---here

we pack essence,
this entering


12.

I will draw the case around
take you to meet mother---
father nodding approval

Your name resonnates blankness
a blank look forward
hand cups neck
the fragile bones

blink----stutter----sigh
ssssssssoooooo heerre weee aarre

stain of pine
foot print pressed

no songs tonight---
nothing to take along---

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 hand
a bellow or a sigh

now a glass bridge
peeking through to the floor

arms, only arms
his 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---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 --------

another suitcase for my grandma

6.

WHEN -------- I want////to go
they faded, the polaroids of the beach that day

you, the [ ] housewife
who never liked to cook
the cracks--gaps--your face--un-famil-y
the way the breath
just
stopped.

dulling varnish
the lacquered box black
cabinets bare
looked back
holding on----------the pain

open rusted clasps

curl yourself inside its walls.

two new suitcases

4.

He will want--a sweater for the evening--
milking the cows, feeding the cats
the morning--eggs and toast
the routine breaking apart

She lived in----------
THIS IS A JAIL--I want to---
freedom of movement

It is a grazy day--
on the coast, the clouds condense
red sliding, white shudders

He was there for so long,
then gone---
the soft-sided bags expand, take on new forms
wandering in the forest, alone


5.

Open on the bed--collecting cast-aways
searching the familiar--
his name always on the surface,
the air, motionless, afraid.

Your children becom-- strangers
that night, twenty years ago, when he---------
keys falling from hands
blank stare

You are going inward, inhabiting----
this body, never comforted
you live--------?
the sight brings joy, immediate
coming from far away

this place, unfamiliar

suitcases, continued

3.
You will make everything fit
into a finite space--the bails of hay
a container for grief--

He stacks, you sweep--
There is no sweeping, not tonight.

This--is--called----
weeping
where he lay sleeping
or is it-----
the falls, the canyon, your journey

Stack and fill and stack
the walls emerge in her vision--
you look away--find the bags--
move to the next new moment.

suitcases

I went to see some short films on Friday night, and one of them was about a woman's experience of Alzhiemer's. It was really interesting, and it reminded me to go back to this series of poems I started writing about my grandmother's deteriorating dementia. She went through a period where everything she did centered around traveling--going "home"--and she kept packing suitcases. I wanted to do some lino cuts to go with the poems, and solicited friends to do drawings of suitcases. I got one response, and printed it. I'm still looking for suitcases, if you are interested in drawing one for me.
Here are the first two poems I wrote for this series.


1.

In the attic, the Samsonite--your name,
a distant echo--
we were symbiotic, constantly aware--

Here, it is quiet and she cannot recover
the evenings when his books drowned out
her thoughts. Now, he is--
the shotgun leans against the doorjamb, waiting.

Daughter, sister, mother blend and carry
into the Painted Desert. The dog in the
backyard wakes the neighbors, even
through the cancer.

She holds your hand and then they
take you away. Fold the nightgowns and place
them on top of the underwear. The rushes
waver in the ocean air.

2.

You pack what you need for the trip. That
night, moon lighting the landscape. We built
the fire to last the night.
Now everything is cold.

There are days when images connect
with names. And then you know he is gone.
Once, I put the keys on the night
stand. What do you call that pretty
red bird? It was impressive, the heat.

You imagine there is somewhere else--
a brother whose name is silent--
a mother who survived the birth--
Carry only what serves you.
Tomorrow, we will go home.