"suitcases" poems
No, it doesn't happen
Through secret glances
And shy smiles
Nor does it happen
When you gaze into ones
Deep crystal eyes
It doesn't happen
In the midst of flashlights
Or romantic background music
It happens
When you see deep within
Ones soul
Not just the window
But the whole house of emotions
It happens
When he grows meadows of daisies
Inside the ugliest parts of you
It happens
When he caresses your tear stained face
In 2 in the morning
And holds you like you're gold
It happens
When you're upset over him
Not being there for your little fits
It happens
When the suitcases under your eyes
Are packed
With thoughts of him
And only him
It happens
When you're too young
To fully comprehend
What the universe holds for you and him
But what if
At a tender age of fifteen
You know he's the one?
The one
That holds the perfect fit
To your broken soul
It happens
When you least want it to
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
We'll drive
Stare out the window
And sing
to each other
Eat terrible food
and laugh
with one another
Gallivant around antique shops
and dream
of life together.
We'll reach the final destination
throw our suitcases
on the bed of our
cheap motel
and kiss passionately
wherever.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
I've walked the beaten path
Sinned in the ways of every religion
But the only salvation I'm looking for
Is in the smiles I'm able to place on your face
So when you read my text
Listen to the way I'm telling you I like you
Listen to the message in the complex smiles
The kissy faces
That seem to be endless
You can't call this puppy love
This is the way you were meant to be loved
So baby let me make you happy
I'm not asking for the physicality of a relationship
I'm asking to put this band on your finger
Look in the mirror
See my complete reflection
Because this mirror is your eyes
Baby let me make happy
There's nothing I'd rather do
Honestly you're on my mind
I've only talked to you on occasion
I don't don't want to send coded messages
In the texts that make you smile and want me
I want to tell you straight up
Baby I like you
I'm not innocent
I'm not expecting you to be
I'm just asking you to be mine
Let me make you happy the only way I know
Let me be the sculptor
Plaster smiles on your frowning face
Strip the clothes from your mannequin figure
Let me make you happy
In and out of the bed
I'm only asking for a chance
Baby let me make you happy
I promise you'll never be alone
Even if I'm seventeen hours away
My heart is in the pillow you hold tight
My cologne is in the sheets you wrap yourself in
You can even wear my clothes
Go insane and let me walk in
On you making out with a pillow dressed like me
I'll smile and I promise
I'll love you the way that pillow never could
Let me make you happy
The way the other guys failed to
When they ******* up the chance you blessed them with
I promise baby
I'll never hurt you
My shoes are in the closet
They're not going anywhere
My suitcases are unpacked and laying in the dump
Three states away
The distance you wanted in the first place
Between me and my second love
You know I had a tendency of packing up
Leaving in the middle of the night
When your slumbering hand wandered on my side of the bed
Looking for the warmth of my skin
But Baby I promise my walking days are over
My running shoes are too old
They don't fit anymore
Let me make you happy the way you deserve
I understand if you don't want to do it
I'm not going to cliche it up
I'm not going to beg
I'm just going to tell you
I like you
Ask you for only one thing in this relationship
Let me make you happy
It's not much but let me make it my sole purpose in life
I don't need a god or gods and goddesses
All I need is the heart in your chest
To be my altar
To be where I tithe my sins away
To give praise to the heart that saved me
Let me make you happy
I'm not a complete ****** like the rest of them
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
It's like the movie
part of me*
It tells me where I should
go and want to be
**Please note that I will say
Not a dark place
inside my suitcase**
"Robin Red Breasted" suit
Peck and nip and tuck in place
The rainbow iridescent
Suiting her taste wet rain tents
Everyone was Green with envy
**Robin/ Rainbow event lets hear
it for our Army so many
troops**
He was sitting politely
Like a salesman of suitcases
on her stoop
She was mesmerized
Living out of a tour suitcase
She wanted daisies she was
ready for fantasies
Of him in her suitcase
Tumbling through
Another time Postman
Singing birds to ring twice
Birds all in groups
Computer laptops she wanted
to be surprised so mysterious
But ready for love ingenious
He laughed not losing sight
Robin eats like a bird
so hilarious
She packed her sunshine
yellow ribbons
she was ready to feed
Those Brooklyn pigeons
Packed suitcase ready for
the love of God
Going frenzy from her fruit loops
Robin Birdie born traveler scoop
Well nested flying South
fully invested
Rocking her flight cradle
Wherever I go or whatever I do
Traveling packs meet
Mr. Ramen noodles
Getting silly splashing puddles
The Spiritual Zen
traveling boots over a shower
He kissed them high up (Eiffel Tower)
Rome Italy wines in love cahoots
The call I'm ready "Amazon" wild
Let us go, child, another story
But the wildcard fresh air
Oh! Dear
The lightness easy does it
feathering wings the clues fit
Packing my suitcase
Love is a drug of "Europe"
Perfectly fine wine
Always hope with cantaloupe
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.
Its running is useless.
At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,
Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
Swaying slightly in their thick suits,
White towers of Smithfield ahead,
Fat haunches and blood on their minds.
There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
The butcher's guillotine that whispers: 'How's this, how's this?'
In the bowl the hare is aborted,
Its baby head out of the way, embalmed in spice,
Flayed of fur and humanity.
Let us eat it like Plato's afterbirth,
Let us eat it like Christ.
These are the people that were important ----
Their round eyes, their teeth, their grimaces
On a stick that rattles and clicks, a counterfeit snake.
Shall the hood of the cobra appall me ----
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal
Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases
Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,
Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.
6.2k
Spinning chairs, crashing
Dollars bills, in a G-string
Face hammering,
by sweaty sticky ***** cheeks
Plastic suitcases, held tightly
Chug your drink it's time to leave
Walk cautiously, drink powefully
Ting, ting, goes the machine
She winked at her, she pinched back
He said let's go
Their room opening
Laying, the mysterious women on the bed
He grabbed her hips
His wife watched, caressing her ****
Door goes cold
Sun shining brightly
Eyes being punctured into gaping holes
Cheesy over done smile, stepping into the livingroom floor
Perfect outstanding family
Morally hidden, detrimental corrupting
Their professional suits, look so clean
Appearance is everything
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
The sun is shining and
moonbeams glisten through the air.
Moon, not sun.
While the sun shone
and incinerated the sloshing intestines of
vengeful beasts;
the gentle and forgiving moon
projected from their eyes and
caught the ****** maw of a starving deer.
Suitcases of leather stacked behind us
filled with spruce, pine, elm, oak, cherry.
Ready for induction t
o our paperless society
which consumes the forests of
Hippolyta and Antiope mercilessly.
Burning every leaf
then forgetting to feel
because nothing mattered.
Everything never mattered.
Facts are lie, opinion is truth.
“No one is nothing”
they shriek to the heavens
striving to be limitless
and scorning morality. Embrace death
and all its glory.
Life, while full of happiness
and gorgeous splendor,
refuses to acknowledge the
magnitude of the word. The thing.
Falling and reading and lines
and circles and explosions
and whimpers and screams. Agony suffered
silently, alone; never understood
because how could it?
What could totally encompass
the raging fire that devours the veins
and burns from the inside out
kept in place by the impenetrable
flesh that glints in the forgiving moonlight.
A hostile exterior that
smiles, waves, laughs on cue to
disguise the raging storm
fighting its way through from inside.
The shell which shrinks from the moonbeam
and into the harsh sunlight
that filters beneath the floating clouds.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
shuffling feet & carry-on suitcases
walking through countries
temporarily nameless, faceless, homeless
in the middle of nowhere
cut off from society
people who, for the time being,
don’t really belong anywhere
a mixture of nationalities & cultures
thousands of different languages,
different races,
different colors
just passing through the terminal
one country to another
some with a final destination in mind
others finding meaning in the journey itself
a lack of permanency
a lack of belonging
i must admit
there’s just something about airports
which makes me feel very much at home
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
i threw rocks at time
tried to shatter the face of each clock
that mocked me today, but
i was unable to slow the seconds
that pulled me away from you
feeling childish, i gave up
and time paid no mind to me
as the bus sped away
and i walked home, my mind spinning
with visions of plane tickets and suitcases
and the spaces hidden around this city
that we've been occupying all this time
i saw sunshine smiling down upon rough, empty rocks
and a hill sloping steep toward the water
that we sat by
and i saw the places i have yet to show you
and i am so sorry, but the happier i am
the worse i feel
as the days slip past me
and i am always one step closer
to leaving
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
This morning we jogged early
I was back in my flat by six-thirty
From my tenth floor view of the Charles River basin,
The morning was incandescently flushed by the peach-colored sun.
The transparent clouds seemed stylistically stained, artfully workshopped, which offered a softened, Tiffany glass effect wholly worthy of worship.
I can’t stop to admire it. I’m jamming things into suitcases.
Cramming things into boxes, giving things away.
I had a second interview Monday afternoon, for Johns Hopkins med school. They put the question to me:
“The semester starts in 18 days - can you do that?”
“Yes,” I replied, and just like that, I'm a Blue Jay.
Of course, I had to withdraw from the masters program but Harvard gave me a full (95K) refund - I think they’re more excited about my med school admission than I am.
I’m not afraid of discordant notes.
They change the landscape.
Take us to new emotional places.
Any major work is going to have them.
.
.
A song for this:
Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini
It's Amazing by Jem
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC
There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. Dorothy's Kansas never looked so comforting, her black and white world never so safe--never so flat, so barren.
Didn't she learn her lessons? She caused such trouble! She gave Auntie Emm such a fright! That bump on the head must have caused her brain damage. After the "big storm" was only a memory, and the terrible twister only a town tale, Dorothy did it again.
She ventured out on her own.
Yet Mrs. Gulch was still a witch. And Dorothy's "nasty, little dog" still got into the garden. The sheriff was ready to track her down and clamp down on her for good! Running home frantically for help, Dorothy realized that Auntie Emm was still too busy ******** at her shiftless farmhands, henpecking tired, old Uncle Henry,
and he was just too cranky to care. The farmhands were supposed to be her friends, but they just started crabbing at her again.
They soon gave her what for. "Dot, didn't you learn a thing in life?" "Didn't we rescue you once from a pigpen?" "That heart of yours leads you in the wrong direction! " "Where are your brains, anyway?"
Heartbroken, naive Dorothy realized something that was quite profound. Her heart was always in the right place--she just needed the courage, the courage to know she was smart enough to make it on her own. So Dorothy packed her bags, especially remembering her red ruby slippers. She would never forget her loyal friend and sidekick, her beloved pooch, Toto. If she was going, he was going with her.
So there she stood, suitcases in hand, in her bleak, little, colorless world. Terrified, she stood upon the precipice. Fear or faith? And all of a sudden she was noticed again! Just what was she doing? Who did she think she was fooling? Was she crazy!?
"You'll never make it!", they all warned. "You don't know the first thing about how to live in a Technicolor world!"
"Sorry, I do love you", Dorothy answered back. "But I disagree and I will forward you my new address". So off she went finding the path down the yellow brick road.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 3:54 AM UTC
People moving in
With their suitcases on board
Standing everywhere
Fumbling to their seats.
"MAY I SEE YOUR BOARDING PASS?"
Yes please.
Plane flies on the runaway
Diving into the clouds
Into a puff of wind
and smoke.
We fly.
I sat unmoved
For the rest of 16 hours.
I thought I had been fossilized.
Hardened.
But I saw it flying
Us flying to mi casa
Time is rolling backwards
My lips tugging backwards
No more jetlagging.
I held on to a light of a hope
with a lopsided grin.
Perhaps,
It's time to say hello
To the land long forgotten
The land with cozy saturday mornings
Where we have dinner at 7pm, not 9.
The land that I long to be in
Where I had been long gone
is 60 minutes apart.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
stubbed knees
and school yard loyalty
when a cardboard box
was a castle, under trees
we played all day
till the stars sung our names
i looked to you
through the cut out doors
traced in blue
you said we can run away
in suede suitcases
filled with tubes
if you knew the game
why did you push those needles
through
i always could of loved
you more
but how did you run alone
through our castle door
hopped those speeding trains
fled to abandoned planes
and you filled those strangers beds
just to feel that lift
i was your younger self
i believed in nothing more
leave the artists
alone with their dreams
all those hurtful days
will become their masterpiece
but I'm a single wing
a monarchs arm
that rests on the peek
of our castles farm
you left me alone out here
with big shoes to fill
wearing my daisy dress
bleached with our mothers tears
i always thought you had it good
you where the silhouette
of my shadows dream
but in the end
of this threaded world
i sit on a bench
filled with city birds
and i look past the cracks
of our castle doors
to see my loneliness
apart from your beaten war.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
You said it,how you broke my heart
every time we talk I break and cry
I stop as I was so crazy to love
To give all there is unconditionally
burnt shatters and pieces evoke
Now sat here at the cross legged bench
this country oak that soothed misery
the one with antique aesthetic split
Overlooking the misused McDonald’s
where ducks prey, play and swivel
by the bus stop where people load
carrying suitcases to a distant destination
Yet, never had I been broken in my life
with lack of direction and unknown trauma
lost 10 feet under the revolting grounds
no apologies, no goodbye ,no explanation
not another chance,nor another beat
not a fiery fire, decrepit with the low blows
Now solitude is a glove that fits me
It has justly put the pieces back together
Washed the foolishness and carelessness
For we are not made of bricks and blocks
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
he promised he'd take her out on the town at a quarter past three
and by a quarter of three she was dead in the living room
with her father's linens draped around her ankles
and below her skin, a purple fountain flowing
he promised her father he'd mend the holes in the linen
which had stained dark after her ascension
after her stomach acid bore craters into the floor polish
after her tongue fell from her lips to kiss the lace
and then men with suitcases took her body away at a quarter past three
they came without breaking or collapsing in the living room
they shrouded her in clinical-white sheets
and walked out the door bearing stoic expressions
leaving nothing but the world behind them
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC
Her fingers were covered in corn.
the corn after chewing, broken
pierced, churned- it could spread as butter
thick on stale toast, if needed
"it's fine, don't you worry, we'll get you all cleaned up"
she stared indifferently
Strings dangled from her mouth, unswept
full of necessary greens ---"mhm there there, this will give
you so much energy" --- drags of breath,
half inhale half choke. nothing to look forward to,
not the next soaking glob, not the cursing woman
in the bathroom, not the spill of light to her eyes
Where are the ladles, Did you check on it? The key? Just moved, most the suitcases aren't there yet. Remember to bring the Did you check on it? pay attention. Have you seen my grand kids?
who are you?
Sunday's are for the active ones
The games down the hall are too far. Why worry with legs, if she could just adjust to the left
the world could sag into an ongoing dream- No demands, no games, no movement.
The nurses hair net had more presence than the splotch of gray against her peeling itchy scalp. Drool leaked from leather lips, dampening the collar of her two month sticky blouse. Arms curled and locked,displaying under the wax skin cranberry patches-
she never wiped them off. Always the soft murmer of
a snore, always the smell of unbrushed teeth and hampers.
"Did you touch those where don't touch me scott scott scott leave my things alone thevenin I need a stop lying I want to go scott, scott? scott. I can't remember any"
I said my name four times before she heard me, knew me
I fixed her pillow and my sister marked off the day on the calendar.
We told her about school, the marching band, each word
filled with forced enthusiasm. She bobbed her head in circles, lazily
rolling her eyes, the curtain shading the empty space. We spent 30 minutes precisely.
She was more than I realized.
I never knew she had horseback riding, violin playing days. She traveled and hiked. We could have been close. Unraveling with the mystery, I felt the lateness of my curiosity.
It was 30 minutes precisely, always.
We acted as strangers, reciting routine and wishing each other a happy day and a quiet love you
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
coffee tastes better in Spain
a simple hello is groundbreaking
comfort can be a warm bed or a “like” of a picture
the cold is different in the UK (you can feel it in your bones)
they will always give you a knife and fork to eat a hamburger
sometimes you need to eat at a Hard Rock in Lisbon to be reminded of home
if you eat the bread, they will charge you 1€
crying alone in a hotel room or at a Chinese restaurant in Italy is perfectly normal
never doubt the power of distance
now you can never say you didn’t try
just because you don’t speak the same language, doesn’t mean **** off” isn’t universal
sometimes sleeping next to someone who peeled your outermost layer off is the most intimate you need to be
“I’ll never see these people ever again”
have pride
ask me now what it is that I want
I have come to loathe all brown bags and black suitcases
vulnerability does not necessarily equal intimacy
remember that you pulled yourself out of the sea
your feet tread castles and cathedrals where thousands walked
art galleries are best enjoyed alone
now you understand when mom and dad don’t answer how agonizing it is
write it down if you want to forget it
acknowledge buried truths
eat paella and shnitzel and pizza and fish and chips and don’t think
go to movies at the tallest cinema
slip a little on the cobblestones
lay for hours on the beach
then
go home
be humble
remember
reminisce
teach
embrace
Glasgow – 1/8/15
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
The end of summer rolls around,
As do their suitcases and bags
Down hallways and airport security,
Headed to the next destination.
The end of summer comes too fast,
Like the hugs you receive as someones leaves,
As they walk away and drive off,
Headed to the next best thing.
The end of summer is melancholy;
The sun fades faster than how many friends remain
Because they're all ready to run away,
Headed to the beginning of their new lives.
The end of summer hurts my heart
In the same way goodbyes sting my eyes
Because my friends are all leaving,
Headed off to grow and learn and achieve it all.
The end of summer is more than a season to me;
It's the end of the line for my friends,
It's the end of seeing them whenever,
Because they're headed off to make something of themselves.
And for that,
I'll watch my friends leave
With the heaviest and proudest heart.
The end of summer may take them away,
But it can't take away how much I love them,
With every ounce of my heart.
Distant in miles,
Distant is space,
Though my love will withstand it all;
That is something distance cannot erase.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Ingredients:
suitcases
photo albums
quick wit
a new space that is comfortable to breathe in, raise other beings in, and nurture pets and your spirit in.
Sprinklings of humor to shake on it all when it gets to be too much. Mason jars of self-appreciation and worth to open in an emergency, if these qualities are forgotten and old patterns resurrected.
Preparation:
First, sit quietly with yourself.
Breathe deeply, as many times as you need.
Fill as many soul cups as you can with confidence,
and pour them on yourself, until they sink into the
soapstone of your pores.
If needed, tip back your head and open your mouth,
in order to have a more direct inflow.
After that, take just as many cups of calm
and pour them in, slowly and with generosity.
It is okay if you overflow; you may need extra serenity
later, when you are in the midst of action.
Let the two ingredients mix, slowly, until colors as yet unnamed
are formed in your solar plexus, spilling
throughout the entirety
of your body.
Take a break and blow bubbles, for lightness.
Yes, you may laugh like a loon.
Marinade:
After the laughter has subsided, take a big dose of self- love and rub it all over yourself, drizzled like fine coconut-scented oil. Do not miss a spot, even on the parts that you have a problem with. In fact, give those extra love.
And now, for the rub: This has been simmering for a while. It is time to push it all into the oven and bake it. The heat is rising, so be quick.
Take all precious memories and sew them into the pockets of your coat. The ugly ones, burn, quickly and thoroughly. Scatter the ashes into the wind.
Hang new pictures on the wall. Splashes of nature you have photographed. Mandalas created by a precious daughter. A platypus wishing you goodnight by your little flower imp. A cheeky photo of your boy, to remind you of inner sauciness.
All of these strengthen with love.
Finally, rest your head upon the new pillow and inhale the scent of freshly laundered springtime. For now, the ordeal of your winter has ended.
Time for a long, languid, luxurious dessert.
A new life!
Bon appetite!
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
When we had left the Seamans mission
lugging our suitcases,
Beeston seemed the best place to go
4.6 A.B.V felt like pushing the boat,
but the fillies were feisty enough
to flog off our descendants
into the zeitgeist.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 2:11 PM UTC
Suitcases aren't made for dresses and skirts or any such thing,
They are another type of box they try to trap you within.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
I’m learning to travel light. A backpack, a mandolin case, and a water bottle. That’s enough. A black skirt, an extra pair of wool tights, and a teeshirt big enough to sleep in. Headphones.
my sister asks me when and where and why I’m coming and going and leaving and staying
I’m packing up
I’m always packing up
but my suitcases are getting smaller, more efficient, less attached.
I can’t keep track myself
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
I am from no place for I have never had one home
Having packed too many suitcases and saying goodbye to just as many friends
I am from cheesy Italian pizza in Melbourne to the smoke of shisha in Arabia
From raw fish and coconuts in Fiji to Aunty's famous Kiwi pavlova
I am from the aroma of coffee being breathed in my face as a child
And from losing my breath chasing dad as he drove off to work
I am from long, quiet chats with mother by the ocean
To ferocious one-way conversations as she screamed from the sidelines
I am from a family choir whose desire for perfection spiralled me into years of silence
And the learning the guitar to compensate so I wouldn't feel like an outsider
I am from laughter and I am from mischief
From throwing the sister's cat out a two-story window to emulating the Mask of Zoro with steak knives in the kitchen
I am from hours of swimming laps and hours sprinting on the track
I am from the dewy, green grass of a rugby field upon whom I have many times laid writing in agony
My body has eleven scars from the surgeon's scalpel
And I am a survivor of divine heart surgery as I processed shattered dreams
I am now in pursuit of change everyday
Change to be more like Him who took my sins away
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
Hey dear lady, what are u caring in that big suitcase?
Hey little child, I am caring some pain.
Oh, I thought it was full of candies and toys for me to play.
No little kid. There's no candies inside.
Hey lady with the pain, can you tell me what pain is?
Hey little kid. Pain is something that makes big people like me feel little like you.
Is this what everyone is caring inside their suitcases when going to work?
Mostly yes..
Oh, ok then. Thanks lady with the pain. I hope your pain is not too heavy so I can still see you around caring the suitcase.
Ok child, goodbye..
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 2:45 AM UTC
I have spent most of my twenties,
living out of suitcases and shacking up with
madmen.
A gypsy, on an eternal search
for four walls,
that smell of
fresh paint.
And a warm body--- to press against mine,
if only (and usually)
temporarily.
As the months pass by in my
fancy, new cage---
I become restless, stifled and stagnant.
I’m a like a leaf on a branch,
waiting to blow
aimlessly in the wind
and a footprint,
waiting to embed itself into the soil
of places
I haven’t yet walked.
I am a pair of eyes
waiting to penetrate their gaze,
onto the symmetrical features,
of foreign faces,
I haven’t yet seen.
I am a nomad,
who cannot grasp,
the conception of home.
All I know how to do
is pack my bags
and
keep
moving.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC