Bags

Good morning.
Sun in her eyes
She squints
One stop at a time
Too much reality
In the receipt she studies
Of the dwindling paycheck
Survival;
One too many bags
Four in fact
Under eyes
Under arms
Resting next to her
Filled with the collections
That persist
In the human condition.

Bags
On the backs of children
Lugging expectations
Histories
Central to that American pursuit
Testing
Hoping not to be left behind
In the lottery line of funding
As education flies away
To privately nest in better trees
Next to better springs
Which freely flow
With the assumption of safety
In sparsity
And clear night skies
Where stars hang bare
Revealing their beauty.

Bags
Between my legs
So my back can rest
Falling apart
Just like hers
Like theirs
Overstuffed
With the dangerous appetites
Of self and secrecy...
©2009clarencecbess