unpacking this spring:
packing the suitcases, caressing myself,
body wants to hold on
to the things that hurt. it's safe
and familiar. but when I come back
it will disappear with this place,
on a one-way ticket,
as if I never existed in pain
through these years, only in transit,
bearing an odd resemblance to resilience.
do I then carry the hurt for it to be seen
as loyalty points to the past,
extra luggage of the memory fading? Now we are descending,
and I must forget when the plane touches the ground.
