porters

I carry my pain with me
in a Dior suitcase;
I open it every day
reminding myself
of the knives
and bombs
inside it. 
next to my underwear
and socks

It's so heavy
it slows me down
and prevents me
from entering buildings;
even the service elevators
are too small

You can't check suitcases
like this anywhere;
the dynamite
inside
scares people

so you lug it around
for life
like a dead bird
you keep meaning to
taxidermize
but never
do

You often look
for a porter
to help but,
there are none
to be found

they're helping
other people
who showed up
with scuffed satchels
and craggy backpacks
where it didn't matter
if their contents got
left behind or forgotten