a poem about a plastic bag… I swear it’s not as long as it looks. It likes to double space things…

“Floating”

Forgotten, crumpled, left in

a heap. The printed smiles

whispering quiet thank-yous.

The white, rustling membrane

like thin translucent arms that

hold things we newly covet.

 

It has no strength of its own,

vulnerable to the careless

hands of the wind. Tumbleweeds,

shapeless and mottled memories

of lost things and stuffs that long

lost importance amid new.

 

A homeless man’s suitcase, it

tenderly holds what little

he has managed to hold on

to. In the chaos of his

circumstances, all of his

possessions on foggy display.

 

For most, simply a nuisance.

A constant avalanche

of whites and tans and browns that

seem to hurl themselves about

at the most inopportune

time. Leaving destruction on

 

the kitchen floor. Crackling like

fallen September leaves, a

foreign jellyfish floating

among the waves. Mistaken

for something ordinary,

a quiet fish’s coffin.

 

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