when my boyfriend tells me about the red suitcase
i don’t want to believe him; not just because it’s an “affluent
neighborhood, as described by CNN,
but because the copse of trees near my house is
already so terrifying. i want you to understand, he says, i
just worry. i know you hold your keys between
your knuckles when you walk but please, promise
me you won’t go out alone. last seen between a juniper
and a train station. breathing, at least. her wrists,
ankles, red and raw and rope burn, matching the
suitcase off the side of the road they found her in. and she
was not me, but easily could have been, the space
between us so slim and fragile it could break
on command. he tells me to be careful, but god, i am so tired.
for Valerie Reyes