Empty Suitcase

Fruit basket full on the dining table,
Racket of the mixer grinder and her
Questions from the kitchen—reminders
Of the trips to home and back,
Lie on the couch and slack, while lovingly
Appeared on the table in front,
Juices, snacks, and a magazine, a soft
Plonk on the other end and a gentle
Touch to the feet; such were the pleasures of
Summers at grandma’s place.

Her eternally kind face, her curious smile
And calm probing into life’s sights and sounds
Along miles and miles of journeys, unknown
To her keen soul, ready to absorb, ready to remark
On the sound of her grandson’s mark on the world,
Howsoever small, she would nod and she would
Say, ‘how hard it is you do what you do,
Eat and sleep and love with care
Though in life not all is fair, but you’ll fare
If all is faced with laughter and courage,
And one day you shall have what you today
Possess not, while I will rest and leave.’

And she did, now all that remains are words
In the air, her kind glance up in the sky,
And in my basement that suitcase in which
I would bring back all that I could, dreading
The day it would return empty, and one day,
It did.