I've packed this suitcase more than I've traveled places with it. My mom sits on the front porch, getting a wrinkle every time I go and come back. She cries for the daughter she has; or maybe the daughter I could have been. Take care she says, her tears cursing the wheels. I cry because I'm leaving. Not my mom, but another part of me with her. I cry when I come back, for I will leave a part of me again and again and again, until she has enough to make a mural. Perhaps she does it for the daughter she has, perhaps for the daughter I could have been. Maybe she will make a mirror and see her reflection in it. I am my mother's child and I carry her hierarchy of a broken heart. I wear it on the wheels of this suitcase. I wear it on my lips, in my gaze, on my hands, in my mind. It's rugged from the places I've been to but never really seen. I let it consume me whole, until I'm one with it, but I never let it show. I learned that from her.
I see my dad in every man I meet. He hugs me a farewell and sits back on the sofa to open another beer. I have never seen my father cry, I have never seen my father. The only people who don't wish you evil are your parents he'd say, he says, he'll say the next time I come back. His hair gets more gray every time I leave. You are my best child, he lies. I have never heard my father tell the truth. I have always heard my father. He will help my mom build the mural or the mirror by ripping me slowly. I hope he sees himself in me, for I am his reincarnation. I am my father's child and I carry his hierarchy of breaking hearts. I drag this suitcase through the stones, the lies that have been lied, the lies yet to be told. I wear it as a brochure, an omen, a scar. I wear it on my skin, in my hair, on my tongue, in my mind. Weakness is the thing I never show. I learned that from him.
