I know the storm is coming
when the hills are bathed in a yellow light

and I carry a perfume of each memory,
their heat and heavy eyes,

like walking barefoot in snow—
when I was all countries and all people

and the smell of my soul
matched the smell of all souls,

and the bare trees spread
like coral stretch marks against a fallow sky,

and I knew all women
carry everything they own

in the dark bags
under their eyes.

Listen to this poem:

Baggage by Rachel Heimowitz

Photo Mammoth Ca by Pacheco used under Creative Commons License (BY-ND-2.0)