where will you go inside the
blue suitcase?

when we used to 
go on vacation my suitcase
was always the baby blue 
one that clicks shut
like a great big shark's
mouth taking a bite out
of back seat oof
my mother's station wagon
packed to the ceiling 
with bags--
i would lean my head out the 
window to 
dip my forehead in the
clouds-- 
the window combed my
hair with teeth made
of sharp flecks of sun--
i filled the suitcase
with all the necessary 
provisions: the back flap 
full of beanie babies &
the other flap with underwear
& the one white training
bra
that i only wore sometimes
when i felt like it--
i had one dress in case we
ended up somewhere fancy &
the dress was white with
prints of kiwi fruit on it--
it had a ziplock pouch just
for a tooth brush & "toiletries"
which i thought was a funny word
because it has the word "toilet"
in it but it's still supposed 
to sound dignified & fancy--
so at night at the beach house 
by the light of a paper plate
moon-- i opened up the 
suitcase & crawled inside--
let the lock click behind me
& sensed my body drawn into itself--
felt the world take me under her
tongue & suck on me
like a lemon drop-- i thinned 
& melted & the moon 
disposed of herself--
crumpled & floating in the water--
in the morning
we walked out on the dock &
fished for crab with rods
& hunks of squid that jiggled &
smelled like ocean--
when we caught them we plopped
them back into the channel
only i slip some
of mine
into my suitcase &
at night their scuttling 
made me feel guilty for
trying to harbor the ocean--
i stole handfuls of sand--
broken shells-- stuffed in
a tall thrashing reed & a horseshow
crab who had been flipped
over on the shore--
inside the suitcase the
waves started to break--
seagulls called from their feathers
& it became harder & harder
to lift the thing by the 
handle--
i just wanted to take
it all home with me-- open
the suitcase up & come
back to the water & the dock
& the world in a thin
white dress covered in
kiwis-- walk on the beach
while the crabs snipped 
at the moon turning
into a boat with green lights--
i've kept it all for myself
inside the blue suitcase but
tonight i'm opening it up
& letting the water surge
out my back porch--
waves crash in the parking 
lot & dip my toes
in the remnants of sand &
on the adirondack chair 
i perch to ring out
the salt water from each 
beanie baby & from the 
white dress now smelling
like squid--
i leave the suitcase open
there to air out & the
moon comes down to sit inside--
i shoo her away & 
tell her climb back up
& i'll come out & visit
her when my white dress dries 
& the tide comes into
the back steps of my house--