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The suitcase rests

on the oversized chair in the corner of the room comfortably.

It has rested there since its return from overseas.

Some clothes that were once neatly folded

and pressed to stay crisp for the journey

now droop out of it

like the bowls of a samurai warrior on his knees.

Others are discarded on the floor

still pressed and folded

eagerly awaiting the next journey

either to the drawer

or to the airport

whichever comes first.

The laundry hamper is no different

for you see they are clean in there I'm sure,

Awaiting to be put away once more.

Packing up or putting away

my clothes will be worn another day.

It makes no sense to me, no sense at all

to go through the trouble of hanging and manipulating

my clothes in such a way to stay put

and be at peace.

But I am a restless heart

my feet run fast with the roads

that lie deep within the earth.

They pull me to lands and draw me to the seas

and my clothes trapped on hangers is no place for them to be.

I hear the songs of voices from far away lands.

On the edge of the winds that pulls me to and fro.

So my clothes will stay in a suitcase, for now,

or resting on a table or on the back of a chair.

Not left to rot neatly folded in a drawer

or stiff and dead on a hanger

on a hook on the closet door.

By David Margetson of Cobalt, ON