Written by Sofya Maxnide |
It stands out
A huge white blob amongst the red little things
At the end of each tingly feeler of the strong tree
Clinging to the outstretched arms of the living tree
Not even a parasite can I call it for its not alive
In any sense but yet it strangles that poor branch high above my reach.
The wind, I wish it would
blow stronger instead of this feeble breeze,
and rip its strangling arms away from this sad tree.
I wish wind would play with blob like it always does and fill its
void with empty air, sweep it here and there until it lands
In someone’s yard, forces them to pick it up to hopefully shove it far away.
But where is that white blob to go?
Once it reaches tree, yard, or far away is gone from sight
but not from mind, for I know just like all things on earth it
Yearns to be with its kind, with Mommy and Daddy bag it’s
Looking to find identity as something useful; wants to be a subject of pride.
Look at my bag, it wishes to hear.
It’s ethically sourced and sustainable too, there’s nothing to
Fear, it can be useful for you, over and over and over again,
My bag has become something I can’t live without, I use it so
Much, it’s a part of my identity and even closer than my best friend, do you have one too?
But the plastic bag in the spring tree
Has never heard these words before, instead its used once for
Necessity but mostly for garbage for that’s what is thought of
A white plastic bag; made to use and sometimes abuse but never
Understood as something to be transformed into, perchance, something good.
I look at the tree once more and see no plastic bag anymore
I wonder if it the breeze took it away or if the Plastic Bag in Blossoming Tree heard my plea