Someone left a sun-bleached suitcase
in the corner window at the antique store,
because they understand that everyone here wants to leave.
It's more than an aspiration or a suggestion —
it's a reminder of the people who
were edged out and forced to move away,
to find a new life elsewhere.
I'm trying to stay, because
someone needs to be around
to build something better.
I'll be sprinkling the seeds of female trees,
hoping that I can wait a few more years
to harvest their fresh fruit.
I'll be planting here and there in the empty lot
where the women working in the coat factory hemmed and hummed
and cried and laughed.
But how can I stay focused on growth,
when my only ties to this town
are the bones and the stones in the cemetery?
I don't need to cling helplessly to
bygone days —
remembering is important, but
I must make a home in the present.
I need to make friends in
the here and the now —
to make myself a new person,
or to somehow meet new people
in this same old place.
