The Bag
A poem
I gathered up the things you had
left with me or given to keep.
I packed them neatly in a bag
and handed them to you without protest.
But you did not know what I did not pack;
what I hid from you and that light-weight bag:
Feelings sitting on my shoulders,
all too big for that light-weight bag.
Don’t worry though, I’m learning the handstand.
So, it will fall right off, and I’ll
cartwheel up on my feet so light.
Years of you glued to my skin,
that I couldn’t peel into that light-weight bag.
Don’t worry though, I’ve bought a loofah.
So, I’ll scrub and scrub you off, and I’ll
glisten all clean and so bright.
Thoughts hiding behind my eyes,
slippery and wet for that light-weight bag.
Don’t worry though, I play and replay them.
So, I can wring them off, and I’ll
have eyes empty and so dry.
