Packing

A book with dog-eared pages,
an old story only half written,
a set of maroon sheets,
All set together tightly in one suitcase.

Packing time is something I always look forward to, yet dread at the same time. It forces you to sit down and determine what is really important in life, and how long you can live without life's little luxuries. Sitting on the floor of my room, a pondered what I needed versus what I merely wanted. "Let's see: Sheets, Towels, shampoo and conditioner; I've got all that. Notebooks, binders, extra paper, sticky-notes. Yep."

A childhood toy,
a comfort item,
something to remind me of you,
Something to remind me of myself.

"What else do I need?" I looked over my bookshelf, my nightstand, my bed. I saw things that I knew I would pack, just not yet. There were too many things I still needed access to before leaving." My alarm clock, my pillows, my stuffed fox (that, yes, I still sleep with every night). I couldn't pack those things up yet. Perhaps I would have the nerve to put those away tomorrow, or the next day.

A box within a box,
holding memories and dreams,
locked away
too tightly to leave behind.

Was I really going to need that book, or that picture? Really? I could live without them, if I didn't have room in my other suitcase. Resigning, I decided that I would only take them if I had room left over. Time to consider clothes, but half my wardrobe needed to be washed before it could be packed. I would just have to wait on that too. I really just wanted to get this whole thing over with. "Would it be too odd to go ahead and put that one box in my trunk, even though I won't leave for a few more days?"

A vase, small but elegant,
the last thing, can't forget,
The now empty vessel,
to hold all the pieces
of my once broken heart.

"I'll pack this tomorrow," I said passing judgment on a small locked box that held so much. An ocarina, the gift from my great-grandmother. A picture of me on the basketball team in the third grade. Two of my baby teeth. A picture from my first year in marching band. A ring, a gift from two friends, from so long ago. The piece of music the band played at my graduation. A small collection of Canadian coins. And two knives, one fairly new, the other being quite old.

Perhaps the rest of the packing can wait. . .