- Vol. 10
- Chapter 12
Blue Tote
gifted on my 21st birthday,
the blue tote soaked the sun’s light
as I’d stuff it to capacity --
its contents
a reflection of varied states
of contentment
a paperback copy of Anna Karenina,
sterling silver chains, slightly tarnished,
orange Tic Tacs, Juicy Fruit sticks,
crumpled receipts from 5-star restaurants,
parking violations, monthly cashier’s checks
and various stages
of consumption
uncapped Bic pens, Crayola crayons,
pennies waiting for wishing wells,
a coupon for a free Frosty, tubes of cherry
red and midnight blue lipstick, movie
tickets, midnight showing.
The tote spent restless days
on shoulders and sleepless
nights on bedposts --
up and down the coast,
mileage and carrier
Blue Tote
pigeons unknown.
Across backyard alleys
and gravel parking lots,
it consumed,
as I did --
Raisinets and Capri Sun pouches
handwritten phone numbers on tampon wrappers
piano keys and codes to unused basements
a felted red mockingbird, an origami penguin,
and plastic green pigeons
in between classes on English literature
and shifts at the local burger drive-in
until on impulse,
after a shift dripping
of greasy pick-ups,
under a sky of no stars, I turned the tote
upside down and dumped
all contents
into a trash bin that smelled of grease
and overconsumption.
Blue Tote
Initially, I felt free. Then regret conspired.
The tote now weighs no more than a few ounces,
yet I still bear weights of unknown origins.
Come night --
beneath a blue tote
a pigeon pecks at empty
gum wrappers as bubbles crack,
a decoding exercise denied.