The Alpha Centaurian said, "we've finally come to take you home. You're allowed one carry-on bag." And so the exiled female went from cupboard to drawer, scanned, then emptied the contents of a shelf, into a galactic-issuecarry-all bag. There wasn't much she really wanted to bring with her, but she took what she thought she'd need.
 
sucked dry of oxygen
folded into triangles
earth

(Author's Note: This poem was published several years ago in scifaikuest, I believe.)