Look at all this luggage

cluttering around.

Day packs cling like masks forgotten.

They underscore my fear of 

waking up.

Those bags in the corner

are still unpacked.

They were last empty

two moves ago.

Maybe three.

Suitcases packed with suitecases

wait on tiny wheels

in a smaller closet.

A metallic green fanny-pack rests on the door.

"There is a time and a place," 

it hums, and I think about my mother.

I should apologize one day

for misapplying her proverbs.