I should replace it—

I should replace it—

the seam gave more this morning.

Now loose threads hang where the bottom

is separating from the side.

But I carry it anyway,

the tan threads trailing, fraying,

like something trying hard to stay

whole when it's already tried.

It still smells like coffee.

Like old receipts from weeks ago.

Like every bag I've ever known

that I held too long.

I could buy a new one,

something that doesn't leak,

doesn't let things fall through

the widening gap where seams come undone.

Something that doesn't keep

the smell of what I've paid for, spent.

Instead I shift the weight

to my other shoulder, hesitate,

and keep on walking.

The threads coming loose a little more

with every step.

I'm not ready yet to let it go.

I'm not ready yet to know

what it's like to carry something new.