Baggage – Poem

Baggage

I have written a thousand poems
to the emptinesses I’ve left

behind, simple as sockrolls
tucked in haversack flap pockets, compact

as a roll of quarters tumbling
in an unfilled suitcase. I would no more

read them to you than I would answer
the ads on back pages of

the foreign city hotel foyer newspapers I read
alone in pallid, impersonal rooms.

4 thoughts on “Baggage – Poem

  1. This is interesting in that it brings something up about writing — how it is situated in the past and can situate us in the past. And it can get left behind as we live in the present, or look toward the future.

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