Today, as she walks up to her door, she has found there a plethora of groceries in bags covering her front porch. She is taken aback from the sight, and has to put her children down from bringing them in from the car. They had just left the bank and had found out she had no monies in there. Her husband was away on a Med-Cruise with the navy on his new ship, and had forgot to take care of this before he left for 8mo. She was devastated and trying to wrap her mind around what was lying before her and her children. Trying not to let them see her cry, however it could not be helped, as she tried to explain to her children the truth of that situation.
They were listening in their own little ways, when her oldest daughter spoke up and said, “We have to pray mommy!”, and so they did, in the car that was still parked at the bank. They held each other; as she and to her surprise: her daughter prayed together and cried out for help and what to do. It was in those moments there was a peace that came over all of them , as they all knew something was happening; heavens gates were opening with the prayers of a mama and her children lost, but not forgotten and the angels singing. Which brings them back to what was greeting them at their front door when she arrived.
There were so many groceries of food, as well as necessities needed from diapers, to paper towels, to toilet paper, to everything needed for laundry supplies, to bath soap, to shampoo, to cleaning products for the house, to plastic bags, to ziplock bags, to new clothes for everyone, to toothpaste and toothbrushes, to candy for the children and special chocolates for her, to monies that helped which was exactly the amount that was needed; with a note that simply read, “God knows and loves you.”
Needless to say, they were laughing and crying at the same time, as they brought into their home the gift of love, never to know for whom it was, but they did, espically when her daughter said, “See mommy, our prayers worked. And with that, she said with a smile on her face and in her heart, “Yes, they did, hunny! Yes, they did!”
Donna Whiting
She looked in the mirror, tugging down on her cheeks. “Geez, I look tired.”
“You look beautiful.”
She made a face in the mirror even though it was directed at him, but a smile flushed her cheeks anyway. He chuckled and resumed his work. It felt good, this easy conversation.
Bags and Bags of clothes were lined up on walls, when you walk in it is like going into a place were their is always good intentions and it silently softens your soul.
Sydney Erbe
The bags under his eyes were taking over his whole face, and he looked so disheveled and defeated that she could not stand to look at him. She hated this for him, and wondered with crushing pity when the last time he slept was. His entire being seemed sick and distraught with pain and agony.
Psychowizard
Three bags left on her door step. She almost tripped over them when she went outside to seee if she received her newspaper. She had no clue what could have been in those bags. Her mom and brother were staying with her. She wondered if they had ordered something. If so, why would they come I. Brown paper bags open for all to see.
She took out some stationary and wrote a note to both of them right after she brought the three bags in. “Mom, Jason, did you order something, if so, these bags might belong to you. If not leave them on the counter. I have a feeling that they might have been delivered here by mistake.
The contents look like something Rick across the stree might order. Health food, work out clothes as well as fruit, veggies and protein mix along with a handful of books. Unless one of you started body building, then please by all means put your items away and know I am cheering you on.
It is amazing how much the context of ones bags can tell a lot about one person, don’t you both think? I wonder what you would think of if you could see the weekly context of my grocery bags., Sorry to disappoint you both, it will never happen. I am to private of a person.
Mother, that should make you happy. You created me to be discreet and the proof is in the bags. I find myself laughing as I think about you both peering into certain areas of my life, maybe even blushing a bit. Not that there is something I am hiding. It is just that I like to keep my life private. If I was on Facebook, that would be my status.
Speaking of status, I have been selected as guest speaker of the month by my book club. It is a prestigious selection, one I am honored to say yes to. I will send you both the dates and maybe God willing you can make it together.
You carry things in bags. Bags keep things organized. You can put bags in other bags. And more bags in those bags full of bags because their bags. Bags are cool and don’t keep things cluttered.
Daisy J Riegel
never had a problem with my bags flying in onewolrd companies. the policy about bags is pretty good too.
Larissa Da Silva Carneiro
i love i bags ,women wouldn’t survive without them they keep all our secrets and its like a little tiny home we owns alone and it possesses all our most valuable belongings ,i would rather have a bag than earrings
Joan
Weary to the bone, I grabbed my bags and hauled myself onto the bus. It was nearly empty, so I grabbed a seat and put my gear on the seat beside me. As I leaned my head back on the seat and closed my eyes, I heard a shuffling next to me and opened one eye.
There was an elderly man beginning to look through my things. I watched him for a moment.
Under your eyes, what your ass looks like, what you carry every day from the grocery store; what you look at in the windows of expensive stores and gasp about because who the hell would pay five grand for a hand bag? And then you think, Who was the genius that talked women into thinking a) that they need to even have one and b) that it’s some kind of entry into the elite if it costs a fortune and c) that if you never do anything else i your life, you NEED to buy a Chanel bag. Guess what? You don’t. Guess what? They want you to. So they can make a shitload of money, buy expensive homes and boats, buy thousands of shares in stock, and live in houses on the beaches of the most beautiful places in the world. It’s all bullshit. You don’t need a bag, or their bag, or any bag. All you need is the sunset and the beach, which, while it may not be on the most expensive real estate on earth, is fucking enough.
Nyla
Mother stood at the top of the steps, her stern gaze boring down on me like a hawk circling it’s prey. “Pack your bags, Annabelle. It’s time for you to go.”
I waited a beat, swallowing the lump in my throat before trying to speak. “I assure you, Mother, you won’t hear from me again after today.”
“See that I don’t.” And with that, she turned on her heel and went back upstairs, stepping inside her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.
AJ Kenobi
I used to carry bags, book bags, filled with studies and hopes. But now I cary baggage. Filled with all the secrets we wish we could tell the world, but instead we fill up at 3AM when no one is there to see the dirty, dark, pieces of our lives we chose to hide from others. These bags are full of heartbreak, realness, and life.
Kaitkett
She could not believe the load he brought. Her eyes paced the backseat of the car and gave a scoff with her arms raised up in the air. The mother was married to a narcissistic menace, “I can’t believe you brought this much bags!” She grimaced and chucked one at the fragile husband who recoiled.
celine
Dad stumbled throught the door, carrying at least 50 bags of grocerise. “Do you need help!?” I asked, worried about the safety of the endeavour.
He gave a strangled nod and handed me a few of the heaviest bags. Even carrying those was hard. “I still don’t get that, how do you do this? I know you have to buy stuff for the party, but still…”
He laughed. “I guess you just have to do it though. Now, would you mind helping me set up the decorations? They’re going to be here at 6:00.
~that was all the time I had~
A Person
Dad stumbled throught the door, carrying at least 50 bags of grocerise. “Do you need help!?” I asked, worried about the safety of the endeavour.
He gave a strangled nod and handed me a few of the heaviest bags. Even carrying those was hard. “I still don’t get that, how do you do this? I know you have to buy stuff for the party, but still…”
~that was all the time I had~
N
I love bags especially backpacks. If I had my way I would take my backpack everywhere I go.
But, Unfortunately, I can’t do that.
Alexandria
Bags under my eyes after a reunion night with you, you burning and shivering in bed next to me while I didn’t get a wink of sleep. This week, I’m wearing my warmest jacket and carrying raw ginger with me in anticipation of the sickness you had sinking into my cells. The premonition of a heavy head.
Ella Emma Em
when you go to the store and buy a lot of things you need bags to carry them to your car or to your house if its close enough to walk.
Jesse Martinez
i use bags when i buy groceries. bags are made out of plastic of cloth.
KJ
Bags under her eyes. A sign of a long night, lack of sleep and a concern for the call that made its way to her instead of her sister. She wondered as she looked at herself in the mirror. How could someone mistaken her for her sister. She never saw the resemblance, except for the bags. Maybe that was it. The bags told a story of them both, hard workers, women who never seemed to have taken a break from work or worry. Even though she exchanged the word from worry to concern, truth be told, she still worried even though the words were swapped. Her biggest “concern” was the future. The relationship between her and her five siblings. They had not gathered as a group since the day they laced their mother to rest. It had been nine years. She missed the six pack, the Perez bunch. She longed to gather together under one roof, one room, the six of them for a reason, non other than connecting. Wounds had kept them apart, yet she was about to change that. When illness hit one, it effected them all. How was she about to tell them? Individually or collectively? The fear of loosing one of the six ran through all their minds. This might be the answer to the reunion she had longed for. Not the circumstances she would want but so be it.
We loaded onto the train, I was used to seeing trains carrying freight to factories and hobos to, whoever hobos go. People didn’t go on trains anymore. Not if they had any other means of travel. People trains are bygone relics, used to be luxurious signals of progress and adventure. We couldn’t afford a plane ticket because dad didn’t have a job, and because there was no job we weren’t pressed for time
Zachary Martin
I’m sitting in the truck, my head resting in the space between the headrest and the seat belt. It smells awful, the three air fresheners hanging on the rearview mirror doing nothing to mask the odor of rotting flesh. I sighed. I should’ve probably bought a bag.
I step out of the car and light a match. It’s a shame that I liked the car.
It ignites.
ames
i took the bags to the car to help my mother. she had gone grocery shopping earlier that dsy and i took the bags to the car for her i like helping mom
Vivian Mattes
I carried the bags into the kitchen bc my mom went and got groceries. there were so many bags and I hated it. she always gets the plastic bag so they break all the time and the groceries go everywhere and it takes up my time.
constance scott
Sintió la presión de la bolsa en el rostro y sólo pudo aspirar una bocanada de muerte.
I can barely carry the damn things, they’re so heavy, but I do carry them and I carry on carrying them until my legs are shaking and my arms are on fire. No choice, really. Six in each hand, the plastic digging deep into the flesh of my fingers – but there’s no alternative. I must get them inside.
She looks at me. “Just make two trips.” Ridiculous! How could I live with myself if I didn’t carry everything in one trip???
cassie
I have a lot of bags. That means that I have a lot of baggage. That’s the ticket. Bags are for keeping things tidy. Too many bags means that you aren’t tidy. Tidiness is next to cleanliness. There’s another way to say that but I ran out of time. It’s okay. That’s the way of the crumbled cookie. I am back to writing one word, even though it’s many.
My body is a bag, storing signs of my time on this planet. The bag will empty itself some day soon.
Sordid Panda
Humanity is a pile of junk left out to blot the landscape, blow away in the wind, get sucked into a river and wash out to sea where it will be consumed by a whale who will starve to death on your H&M shreds, broken up water bottles, smashed up toys, and yesterday’s Best Buy must haves that do nothing to make you feel better because the people driving it all need you to be as miserable as the dying life around you. Instead of food you compete for things that can never sustain you. That’s all. Nothing elegant in it. Empty life in an empty bag. Only your body does the world a favor by decomposing and feeding something else. But at this rate what will be left when you’re gone?
Not your children
“How many bags do you need, sweetie?”
“Oh. Uh…three, I guess?”
She handed me three reusable bags, all green, and I hoisted them into the passenger’s seat before settling into my beaten down sedan and driving to the grocery store. The sheet that my mom had given to me was pretty lengthy – she wanted at least three kinds of beans and several jars of olives. And that was just the beginning of the list.
Belinda Roddie
I have bags under my eyes and bags under my arms. I will not make two trips. I will not sleep tonight. Tomorrow I will wake up, and they will be there. I’ll take them to school with me, I’ll take them back home with me. The bags grow. I do not. I will not sleep tonight. I fill the bags with dusted dreams.
Today, as she walks up to her door, she has found there a plethora of groceries in bags covering her front porch. She is taken aback from the sight, and has to put her children down from bringing them in from the car. They had just left the bank and had found out she had no monies in there. Her husband was away on a Med-Cruise with the navy on his new ship, and had forgot to take care of this before he left for 8mo. She was devastated and trying to wrap her mind around what was lying before her and her children. Trying not to let them see her cry, however it could not be helped, as she tried to explain to her children the truth of that situation.
They were listening in their own little ways, when her oldest daughter spoke up and said, “We have to pray mommy!”, and so they did, in the car that was still parked at the bank. They held each other; as she and to her surprise: her daughter prayed together and cried out for help and what to do. It was in those moments there was a peace that came over all of them , as they all knew something was happening; heavens gates were opening with the prayers of a mama and her children lost, but not forgotten and the angels singing. Which brings them back to what was greeting them at their front door when she arrived.
There were so many groceries of food, as well as necessities needed from diapers, to paper towels, to toilet paper, to everything needed for laundry supplies, to bath soap, to shampoo, to cleaning products for the house, to plastic bags, to ziplock bags, to new clothes for everyone, to toothpaste and toothbrushes, to candy for the children and special chocolates for her, to monies that helped which was exactly the amount that was needed; with a note that simply read, “God knows and loves you.”
Needless to say, they were laughing and crying at the same time, as they brought into their home the gift of love, never to know for whom it was, but they did, espically when her daughter said, “See mommy, our prayers worked. And with that, she said with a smile on her face and in her heart, “Yes, they did, hunny! Yes, they did!”
She looked in the mirror, tugging down on her cheeks. “Geez, I look tired.”
“You look beautiful.”
She made a face in the mirror even though it was directed at him, but a smile flushed her cheeks anyway. He chuckled and resumed his work. It felt good, this easy conversation.
Bags and Bags of clothes were lined up on walls, when you walk in it is like going into a place were their is always good intentions and it silently softens your soul.
The bags under his eyes were taking over his whole face, and he looked so disheveled and defeated that she could not stand to look at him. She hated this for him, and wondered with crushing pity when the last time he slept was. His entire being seemed sick and distraught with pain and agony.
Three bags left on her door step. She almost tripped over them when she went outside to seee if she received her newspaper. She had no clue what could have been in those bags. Her mom and brother were staying with her. She wondered if they had ordered something. If so, why would they come I. Brown paper bags open for all to see.
She took out some stationary and wrote a note to both of them right after she brought the three bags in. “Mom, Jason, did you order something, if so, these bags might belong to you. If not leave them on the counter. I have a feeling that they might have been delivered here by mistake.
The contents look like something Rick across the stree might order. Health food, work out clothes as well as fruit, veggies and protein mix along with a handful of books. Unless one of you started body building, then please by all means put your items away and know I am cheering you on.
It is amazing how much the context of ones bags can tell a lot about one person, don’t you both think? I wonder what you would think of if you could see the weekly context of my grocery bags., Sorry to disappoint you both, it will never happen. I am to private of a person.
Mother, that should make you happy. You created me to be discreet and the proof is in the bags. I find myself laughing as I think about you both peering into certain areas of my life, maybe even blushing a bit. Not that there is something I am hiding. It is just that I like to keep my life private. If I was on Facebook, that would be my status.
Speaking of status, I have been selected as guest speaker of the month by my book club. It is a prestigious selection, one I am honored to say yes to. I will send you both the dates and maybe God willing you can make it together.
You carry things in bags. Bags keep things organized. You can put bags in other bags. And more bags in those bags full of bags because their bags. Bags are cool and don’t keep things cluttered.
never had a problem with my bags flying in onewolrd companies. the policy about bags is pretty good too.
i love i bags ,women wouldn’t survive without them they keep all our secrets and its like a little tiny home we owns alone and it possesses all our most valuable belongings ,i would rather have a bag than earrings
Weary to the bone, I grabbed my bags and hauled myself onto the bus. It was nearly empty, so I grabbed a seat and put my gear on the seat beside me. As I leaned my head back on the seat and closed my eyes, I heard a shuffling next to me and opened one eye.
There was an elderly man beginning to look through my things. I watched him for a moment.
Under your eyes, what your ass looks like, what you carry every day from the grocery store; what you look at in the windows of expensive stores and gasp about because who the hell would pay five grand for a hand bag? And then you think, Who was the genius that talked women into thinking a) that they need to even have one and b) that it’s some kind of entry into the elite if it costs a fortune and c) that if you never do anything else i your life, you NEED to buy a Chanel bag. Guess what? You don’t. Guess what? They want you to. So they can make a shitload of money, buy expensive homes and boats, buy thousands of shares in stock, and live in houses on the beaches of the most beautiful places in the world. It’s all bullshit. You don’t need a bag, or their bag, or any bag. All you need is the sunset and the beach, which, while it may not be on the most expensive real estate on earth, is fucking enough.
Mother stood at the top of the steps, her stern gaze boring down on me like a hawk circling it’s prey. “Pack your bags, Annabelle. It’s time for you to go.”
I waited a beat, swallowing the lump in my throat before trying to speak. “I assure you, Mother, you won’t hear from me again after today.”
“See that I don’t.” And with that, she turned on her heel and went back upstairs, stepping inside her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.
I used to carry bags, book bags, filled with studies and hopes. But now I cary baggage. Filled with all the secrets we wish we could tell the world, but instead we fill up at 3AM when no one is there to see the dirty, dark, pieces of our lives we chose to hide from others. These bags are full of heartbreak, realness, and life.
She could not believe the load he brought. Her eyes paced the backseat of the car and gave a scoff with her arms raised up in the air. The mother was married to a narcissistic menace, “I can’t believe you brought this much bags!” She grimaced and chucked one at the fragile husband who recoiled.
Dad stumbled throught the door, carrying at least 50 bags of grocerise. “Do you need help!?” I asked, worried about the safety of the endeavour.
He gave a strangled nod and handed me a few of the heaviest bags. Even carrying those was hard. “I still don’t get that, how do you do this? I know you have to buy stuff for the party, but still…”
He laughed. “I guess you just have to do it though. Now, would you mind helping me set up the decorations? They’re going to be here at 6:00.
~that was all the time I had~
Dad stumbled throught the door, carrying at least 50 bags of grocerise. “Do you need help!?” I asked, worried about the safety of the endeavour.
He gave a strangled nod and handed me a few of the heaviest bags. Even carrying those was hard. “I still don’t get that, how do you do this? I know you have to buy stuff for the party, but still…”
~that was all the time I had~
I love bags especially backpacks. If I had my way I would take my backpack everywhere I go.
But, Unfortunately, I can’t do that.
Bags under my eyes after a reunion night with you, you burning and shivering in bed next to me while I didn’t get a wink of sleep. This week, I’m wearing my warmest jacket and carrying raw ginger with me in anticipation of the sickness you had sinking into my cells. The premonition of a heavy head.
when you go to the store and buy a lot of things you need bags to carry them to your car or to your house if its close enough to walk.
i use bags when i buy groceries. bags are made out of plastic of cloth.
Bags under her eyes. A sign of a long night, lack of sleep and a concern for the call that made its way to her instead of her sister. She wondered as she looked at herself in the mirror. How could someone mistaken her for her sister. She never saw the resemblance, except for the bags. Maybe that was it. The bags told a story of them both, hard workers, women who never seemed to have taken a break from work or worry. Even though she exchanged the word from worry to concern, truth be told, she still worried even though the words were swapped. Her biggest “concern” was the future. The relationship between her and her five siblings. They had not gathered as a group since the day they laced their mother to rest. It had been nine years. She missed the six pack, the Perez bunch. She longed to gather together under one roof, one room, the six of them for a reason, non other than connecting. Wounds had kept them apart, yet she was about to change that. When illness hit one, it effected them all. How was she about to tell them? Individually or collectively? The fear of loosing one of the six ran through all their minds. This might be the answer to the reunion she had longed for. Not the circumstances she would want but so be it.
We loaded onto the train, I was used to seeing trains carrying freight to factories and hobos to, whoever hobos go. People didn’t go on trains anymore. Not if they had any other means of travel. People trains are bygone relics, used to be luxurious signals of progress and adventure. We couldn’t afford a plane ticket because dad didn’t have a job, and because there was no job we weren’t pressed for time
I’m sitting in the truck, my head resting in the space between the headrest and the seat belt. It smells awful, the three air fresheners hanging on the rearview mirror doing nothing to mask the odor of rotting flesh. I sighed. I should’ve probably bought a bag.
I step out of the car and light a match. It’s a shame that I liked the car.
It ignites.
i took the bags to the car to help my mother. she had gone grocery shopping earlier that dsy and i took the bags to the car for her i like helping mom
I carried the bags into the kitchen bc my mom went and got groceries. there were so many bags and I hated it. she always gets the plastic bag so they break all the time and the groceries go everywhere and it takes up my time.
Sintió la presión de la bolsa en el rostro y sólo pudo aspirar una bocanada de muerte.
I can barely carry the damn things, they’re so heavy, but I do carry them and I carry on carrying them until my legs are shaking and my arms are on fire. No choice, really. Six in each hand, the plastic digging deep into the flesh of my fingers – but there’s no alternative. I must get them inside.
She looks at me. “Just make two trips.” Ridiculous! How could I live with myself if I didn’t carry everything in one trip???
I have a lot of bags. That means that I have a lot of baggage. That’s the ticket. Bags are for keeping things tidy. Too many bags means that you aren’t tidy. Tidiness is next to cleanliness. There’s another way to say that but I ran out of time. It’s okay. That’s the way of the crumbled cookie. I am back to writing one word, even though it’s many.
My body is a bag, storing signs of my time on this planet. The bag will empty itself some day soon.
Humanity is a pile of junk left out to blot the landscape, blow away in the wind, get sucked into a river and wash out to sea where it will be consumed by a whale who will starve to death on your H&M shreds, broken up water bottles, smashed up toys, and yesterday’s Best Buy must haves that do nothing to make you feel better because the people driving it all need you to be as miserable as the dying life around you. Instead of food you compete for things that can never sustain you. That’s all. Nothing elegant in it. Empty life in an empty bag. Only your body does the world a favor by decomposing and feeding something else. But at this rate what will be left when you’re gone?
“How many bags do you need, sweetie?”
“Oh. Uh…three, I guess?”
She handed me three reusable bags, all green, and I hoisted them into the passenger’s seat before settling into my beaten down sedan and driving to the grocery store. The sheet that my mom had given to me was pretty lengthy – she wanted at least three kinds of beans and several jars of olives. And that was just the beginning of the list.
I have bags under my eyes and bags under my arms. I will not make two trips. I will not sleep tonight. Tomorrow I will wake up, and they will be there. I’ll take them to school with me, I’ll take them back home with me. The bags grow. I do not. I will not sleep tonight. I fill the bags with dusted dreams.