the empty suitcase

before I throw
out the suitcase, I look
inside
the pockets, pull back the zippers
along the top.
not much is there.
a torn ticket
to a train, a bus.
small change.
a pen.
a toothbrush. a map.
a room key, or two.
I've been where this has
been,
this suitcase, faded
a cloudy grey,
but not always there.
not always present,
when there without you.