What’s in the bag?
What’s in the bag?
What’s hidden deep
below most thoughts
before we sleep?
What’s in the bag?
What do we hide
from others and
ourselves? Inside
most hearts are wishes
better kept
away from others.
Those adept
at seeing only
sunny things
and hearing just
the bird that sings
are welcome to
their paper bags.
3-2-2010
Maggie Creshkoff
Us
ReplyDeleteIn my bag:
no god
one divorce
two dead parents
three careers
and lord knows how many parking tickets.
In your bag:
no weddings
a house with furniture
parents who love to ballroom
sixteen years of nuns swinging metal rulers
and thirty years with the same company.
Wanna get hitched?
May Kuroiwa 3/2/10
Yeeha!
ReplyDeleteIn the bag
ReplyDeleteIn early light
I see her face in parts:
the upturned nose,
the tilting lips,
the aquamarine eyes,
hidden under lids swollen with death -
And now I see her whole face,
purple lividity filling in the pallor
like a child’s coloring page,
framed by a black bag.
I lean over to caress her hair
and my forearm finds hers,
matching it
in length and direction.
Mother and daughter –
Embracing.
And in that moment I am grown,
the heavy bag between us
sealing my childhood.
And I am grown.
I lean over to caress her hair,
to kiss her face,
one last time,
tucking her in
the black bag of night…
Josey Poteet
March 2010
Nice thread - how the two poems continued the topic of the first one. (Something like that - I'm no poet...just someone with respect for those who are.)
ReplyDeleteInteresting how subject of "parents" play a continuing role in creative output - especially with women, I think.
Enjoyed reading these.