Baggage Claim Poem by Leo Briones

In the powered ashes
of my last rental car,
I leave the remains
of a contract,
we once celebrated like Fall harvest—
leave you pointing to your heart
as you say you can no longer hear the sound
nor feel the pounding of the moment that connects
recollection with the carousel of joy.

Now, I am left to lift three bags from my trunk—

one beige, filled with dirty tee shirts
and love stained briefs,

another red and heavy
of wine, faux truffles and trekking gear,

the third is black, empty, and spotless—
other than
the soiled silence of memory.