Volume Four, Issue 4

Rebecca River Forbes

This Suitcase is Older than Most of My Friends

Engorged baggage pulls away from the handle.
Bending over, forearms strain to keep hold.
Fulcrum: A pivot point to move body and luggage as one
Full Crumb. Crumbling. fragile, arthritic.
Lever. Releases as the burden leaves her.
Bumping over stairs
Lightness shocks - opens and disembowels
Contents slide like a spiteful laugh, down filthy steps.
Thrown underfoot.
I laugh along too. I'm not holding it anymore.
I'll pick it up soon. I should, it belongs to me
But for now, there is peace in empty release
just to stand and sigh and laugh
While they can lie for a while
In everybody's way.
For them to trip over,
Sharp angled ruins like broken teeth.
Uncomfortable to look at.
Grotesque even. Ignored, bypassed, whispered about later.
But for now, it lies unconsciously ugly-naked.
Offending the senses
and inspiring heroic acts of avoidance and ignorance.
And I laugh and laugh.
They know it's mine, everything has my name tag on.
But right now, I'm not holding it.
So I can stretch my aching arms and back
and smile at the blessed emptiness of my muscles.
Nothing to hold on to for a while.

Pop a Little Pill

Pop a little pill
with a furry caterpillar name
that tucks you hermetically
and blows cool air behind your eyes.
Take a stroll in the peace of defeat
smile in the simple self-sacrifice, replete.
Stare out of the hole in your head
divorced from importance—
an in-patient in the department of lost impatience,
and hold an empty suitcase
which serves you well in any case.

Rebecca River Forbes: "I am a British-Mauritian fuelled by tea (I travel with a tea library). I write poems, short stories, and I write and perform comedy. I recently finished my novel Shut Mouth and am hunting for an agent to give me some love. Find me on Twitter @bohobo101."

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