We all carry baggage–especially poets. Kim Triedman, a member of Somerville’s Bagel Bards writes of the rites of many bards.

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Baggage

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When she left for her next life, the poetess packed

seven angels and a bicycle pump.

Anticipating her own needs had always been

a strength of hers, something

she prided herself on when she took stock

of her many assets, and so

at the last minute she added

some deep cleansing breaths, too,

and a cord of wood, and she tucked

a tiny scalpel into the side zipper pocket

just in case.  She had

no idea where she was going,

or whether she would need a fire

when she got there, yet it seemed

to matter not at all as she pedaled off

into the sunrise – smiling poetically to herself

as the angels danced

on the nib of a pen, thinking

she would take a knife to it all

later,

if need be.
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—  Kim Triedman

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