Handles

my dad told me once before i packed up
for the thirteen minute drive to my mom’s
that
she didn’t really like it
when i brought my things in plastic bags.

they were always convenient and i thought i
was doing a service by getting
some use out of them, at least

i was eleven, i didn’t have
matching luggage or a
suitcase that was mine
that i got when they
split up our stuff

just a little one that was green, size of a
few encyclopedias stacked on each other

it said
"going to grandpa’s house" on it
or something like that
i wasn’t going anywhere
my shit didn’t fit in it anymore

i got a duffle bag from a garage sale
to bring my things out in
so she wouldn’t have to see the plastic bags
i wondered if it was because she thought
now that she’s left us if we’re doing alright
and if i’m still rich enough not to be packing in
plastic bags
and if it didn’t hurt me enough to make me
fall asleep on the couch
with the tv on nick at nite
every night
or wonder what kind of clothes i’m supposed to wear
or how often to take a bath

i am poor or dirty or being raised improperly
by my father,
who has no idea what is happening
who is living in a rented house
with radiators
who bought a waterbed
who joined a church club even though football is sunday
who i have never seen cry except for when
it was happening
who couldn’t cook and gave us chef boyardee
cause it’s what we wanted, forgive him

i never asked if it was him or me, if
our utilitarian logic of putting clothes in bags
was just too depressing or if there was
something else they did to her
i just wanted to say i didn’t mean it
i was sorry about the plastic bags