"dufflebags" poems
Inspired by Time by Hans Zimmer
slogging through the snow
weighed under
the weight of all i know
baggage on my back
in desperate need
of anything but facts
and there she stands
the wind whistling through her hair
and the fingers of her outstretched hands
her face is flushed
but her legs are pale
i must
work harder
work faster
she'll catch cold
in that billowing
pink sundress
unless i run fast
and grab her fully
in my strong embrace
and kiss her sweetly
spreading my warmth
to her numb face
but these bags
won't let me act
or else not fast enough
she collapses
landing rough
on her delicate knees
i can tell
that she needs me
so i cast aside
all on my back
the suitcases
the backpacks
and dufflebags
pounds and pounds
leave my shoulders
and drop
to the white ground
with a quiet, crunchy thump
her face is falling
im growing frantic
taking off everything and anything
that might slow me down
it seems as though the snow is getting deeper
the closer i get to her
she's still falling
as if in slow motion
long curly hair
swirling behind her
like one million crescent moons
im leaping snow drifts now
but i will get to her soon
her face slaps
the ground
and the cry of one billion snowflakes
echos magnified in my ear
i reach her
and turn her over
and see a face
blue and quiet
with frozen tears
stopped halfway down her cheek
and suddenly
mine are flowing free
if only...
if only i had dropped everything sooner
i thought
as this living man
cradled someone
who was not
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
I unzip all the progress I've made, like a suitcase,
And it all comes tumbling out, every accomplishment,
Every moment I felt a little bit lighter and a little bit better,
I am suffocating. The air is tight and heady and I am choking on it.
I shouldn't be here - shouldn't be here - don't want to be here
Where on earth should I be instead?
It's clammy, I'm queasy, I dread this
Let me throw it all away
Hide my baggage in a dumpster, hide my thrice ****** worries in an
ashtray
Brand name purses of tightly packed I-feel-betters
Lost in luggage claim, their discount replacement from customer service
Just another lie to swallow.
I don't want to wake up again, again, until I have my piece of the world
To own. To fret over. To fill. To be prided on and loved in.
Until then I am a jumble of taut nerves and plans
If no one's got one, then I should have, and
Backpacks, dufflebags, crates, I shouldn't have left my happiness
In things that would arrive too late
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
*a sheeplish jaywalker
followed confidently by three others.*
I swim through people:
laps in the waves of arms
doggypaddle through
people and their backpacks
their breifcases, dufflebags
hockey sticks, saxophones, babies
mohawks, fauxhawks
pleas for change, professions of Christ.
offerings of pretzels and
poorly aged hotdogs
cheap sunglasses, perfume
not one, but two delirious people
drift to sleep on my shoulder.
I swim on.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 9:38 PM UTC