bag lady, a poem

And the poem this week - is mine! This below is published in the current edition of Sentinel Poetry Online. I have 3 poems in the issue, including one that a poet friend has described to me as "morbid", and Promised Land.


Bag Lady

I

Bag lady with sackfuls of regret
Rolled in a knapsack, heaved, hauled
As the mollusc bears around its home.

She moves as with feelers, unseeing
Eyes in rituals of avoidance, noses up
Repelled by a sight they would not see.

Woman to whom things have been done
Sacrificial wearer of scars, bearer of losses
Walking wounded from battles long lost.

II

Bag lady with sackfuls of regret
Tucked deep in under-eye pouches
Stuffed down the protuberant tum.

Beaten to a pulp by life’s fictions
Hers is the joy of a wandering haze
A happy face on life’s sad street.

She walks, magnificent as Monroe
Dark as Alek, regal as Iman - owning
Nothing, she claims ownership still.

At peace with her many loads, knowing
If you must own nothing, own your regrets.

© Molara Wood