by M. A. Dubbs
The bags we’ve carried have changed with age.
A small coin purse in youth,
closed with a faux gold clasp.
Inside the squeaky, bright plastic
were a few coins,
they felt heavier than cash
and weight means value
at least to small hands.
As a tween it was replaced by a sparkly hand bag,
shaped like a trendy dolphin
or neon big eyed critter.
Inside its stomach were lip glosses
and lunch money and thin panty liners
we’d quietly unwrap in stalls.
As a teen it was an over-the-shoulder,
tucked under the arm.
Maybe studded or designer,
maybe embroidered with a monogram
or Mrs. Last Name of a grown man celebrity.
Inside would be a cell phone and tampons,
a lanyard of car keys outnumbered by key chains
of billiard balls or something else
pulled with part skill, part luck at a coin machine.
Side pockets held the most private baggies
or square foil wrappers.
Totes replaced backpacks for college textbooks,
laptops, bottles that might be water.
The sleek pleather totes were diurnal,
swapped out for wristlets come sundown.
Nights out were bare bones: a fake ID and one debit card.
Or maybe it was a cross body for a festival or concert?
Filled with a slim wallet and pills and test kits
and everything else that can go in a sock.
But the bag doesn’t come into play until much later.
For some it’s a gray diaper bag
stuffed with all of baby’s needs
or a small bag stuffed with snacks
or a beach bag filled with sunscreen
and towels and goggles
and toys and nose clips.
Or an oversized purse, rival only to Mary Poppins,
stuffed with checkbooks, pill bottles of Aspirin
and prescriptions, hair brushes
a flip book filled with photos of grandkids
and senior portraits
and a honeymoon picture from when she was young and newlywed
and old keys to old cars and past homes.
For others, seasoned on the streets and sidewalks
and low traffic alleyways, she’ll have a caravan of bags.
Shopping bags labeled with thank you please come again
or trash bags or a dartmouth decommissioned duffle,
but they all serve the same.
Everything all together, from toothbrush to pants and socks
and collected aluminum cans and even back to coins again:
traveling sarcophagus, treasures from a queen’s life
lived between fabrics and handles.
But to carry everything on her back
is to carry her home on her frame
And they’ll call her bag lady (I never heard of a bag man).
But perhaps it’s because we’ve learned to carry
and we got used to its weight,
ounces to pounds, simmered to a hard boil.
M. A. Dubbs is an award-winning Mexican-American and LGBT poet from Indiana. For over a decade, Dubbs has published writing in magazines and anthologies across the globe. She is the author of An American Mujer through Bottlecap Press (2022) and served as judge for Indiana’s Poetry Out Loud Competition. She recently won the 2023 Holden Vaughn Spangler Award from River City College MUSE. Outside of writing, she enjoys gardening, hiking, video games and spending time with her family.