Original Poetry: The Airing Out

Shoes and a boot
conceal the old, odd suitcase.
It is coaxed out
and emptied of wools,
plush wide-waled corduroys,
flannels, and leather. Everything
musky with suede-scent
and desiccants.

I’ve freed my bedside
window from a corpulent A/C
and sealed the panes.
Static electricity bristles the air;
the airing-out is over.
October’s leaves have turned—
an elapsed calendar page
ripped out.

And I return to the weathered
suitcase, refilling it
with folded and hand-smoothed
linens, flimsy silks,
and madras. Under the bed,
my cache is restored
like bulbs split and reburied
before the frost.

[This poem was published by The Eunoia Review.]

[Check out other original poems here.]