Runaway Creases

I rush through the house,
Blindly searching for my suitcase
As my feet race me to the bedroom
Closet, my hands rummaging
On the floor through memories made long ago.

I grasp the handle and pull it out,
Heaving it onto the bed fluidly
And prop it open with a loud swallow;
My stomach knotting and my heart dropping.

Hastily, I snatch all the clothes I can
And stuff them in the little space,
Leaving everything that reminds
Me of what I am leaving.

I look down at the shirt in my hands,
Soft fabric crumpled between my fingers;
I fold one last crease
And finish packing my things.

I slam the lid closed, the only way to assure it fits,
And take a deep, calming breath
However my hands still quiver
With excitement or anxiousness,
I do not know.

I look around me, taking in the sights
Before I cross over the threshold
Out into the word
But I freeze;

It is then that I realize
That I have no place to go.