I have a suitcase
Packed with many things.
But myself, I’m empty,
Without a clue, no place to go,
No ticket.
No tag to mark a destination.
It’s a fine suitcase
With good things in it;
Paid for with hard-earned cash.
Others are impressed.
In the morning, the suitcase
Is ready to go anywhere I go;
Just zip it up. I carry it
From place to place.
But I’m still me; still empty
Nothing fills me but my life
Which cannot be fit
In suitcases.
Despite this understanding,
I think to myself:
I should have bought larger.
Much, much larger.
It doesn’t matter, though,
I suddenly remember.
I’m emptiness;
Will stay that way
Forever.
Packed with many things.
But myself, I’m empty,
Without a clue, no place to go,
No ticket.
No tag to mark a destination.
It’s a fine suitcase
With good things in it;
Paid for with hard-earned cash.
Others are impressed.
In the morning, the suitcase
Is ready to go anywhere I go;
Just zip it up. I carry it
From place to place.
But I’m still me; still empty
Nothing fills me but my life
Which cannot be fit
In suitcases.
Despite this understanding,
I think to myself:
I should have bought larger.
Much, much larger.
It doesn’t matter, though,
I suddenly remember.
I’m emptiness;
Will stay that way
Forever.
Lee van Laer, Senior Editor of Parabola holds a degree in fine
art and is a professional in the textiles industry. He is also a writer
and a musician. For more information, please visit
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