Pickup Poem Day 30

Kid-Sized Backpack

You won't get far in the wilderness

of choice without a good bag. The apples

all have different names; shelves groan

with a dozen hardnesses of granola bar,

elastic Quaker to diamond Nature

Valley. To say nothing of the shapes

of gelled fruit goo. They are uncountable

as the names of God, and the kid,

rabinnically, has chosen the kind made

like a parchment scroll. She'll want one

for surviving the trek from till to car,

hunger already the lemma

in the long, inelegant proof

of a body. Her tiny Jansport

with the hearts would struggle

to hold two airport paperbacks,

but it's hers alone. The perfect accessory

for the gift of getting to leave

with time to plan.