Claudia M. Reder

Claudia M. Reder is the author of How to Disappear, a poetic memoir, (Blue Light Press, 2019), Uncertain Earth (Finishing Line Press), and My Father & Miro (Bright Hill Press). How to Disappear was awarded first prize in the Pinnacle and Feathered Quill awards. She was awarded the Charlotte Newberger Poetry Prize from Lilith Magazine, and two literary fellowships from the Pennsylvania Arts Council. She attended Millay Colony, NAPA Writers Conference and The Valley. Her newest manuscript, Appointment with Worry, was a finalist for the Inlandia Institute Hillary Gravendyk Prize. Find out more at https://yetzirahpoets.org/jewish-poets-database/

My Mother’s Empty Suitcases

For now your well-worn Vuitton suitcases
having journeyed from Riga to Italy and finally, America,
are stacked in my closet like Russian dolls,
one inside the other. The frayed handbag, on top, requires repair.

I imagine losses warehoused like abandoned suitcases at airports.
I wander the aisles. I hunt for parts of us
as you would a lost scarf that you recognize and loved,
or a particular blouse worn and softened I imagined you slept in it often.

I sit on the old pullout couch on its green tiled floor.
After I burned my finger, you wrapped it in butter, we slept there.
After you sucked the wood splinter from under my thumbnail, we slept here.

Opening a door I find myself in your last apartment,
everything in its place, like a living museum.
I remember giving the taxi driver your address.
He knows who you are, you brought him
gourmet popcorn for his granddaughter.
He asks how you are.
I really don’t know the answer to that.
I get out of the taxi. Take the elevator.
Chatting with you, I’m still a little afraid.
The past isn’t supposed to be here.

In one aisle I notice a shoe and instantly know it was yours:
the Ferragamo label, the tiny heel, the bow,
the classic silhouette of a narrow foot, size 7.
I sniff the leather, the worn insole,
touch the imprint of your toes, your arch.
It doesn’t tell me much more.
I covet this shoe. I steal it.
At home I set it on the mantel.
I don’t have a mantel, but that’s where I honor
your shoe, this piece of you.