October 13, 2012

Passed Through Customs by Brenda Ordonez

A Saturday morning of seeing the duffle bag
sitting next to you at the bus station
I watched it from my window seat
while you talked to the bus driver
It was an ordinary Army camo duffle bag
a white and red sticker clung to the khaki:
Passed Through Customs Vancouver
You stood by it like a sentinel.
Did you know that not ever having seen your face before,
I would have gone with you at the slightest glance
How, though, could I have told you in time
it wasn't you I loved but that ex-Army duffle bag
and where it had been and where it was going








Brenda Ordonez is a published writer of nonfiction and a former senior editor and writer in the health care field.  She has a B.A. in English from the University of California, Berkeley. Her poem "Design"  appeared in a recent issue of "Wisdom Crieth Without."  Brenda lives with her husband and cat on Florida's Gulf Coast.

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