The Capacity for Weight

I bought this thing in a different state

when I was young and carried less weight.

Now the zipper is a line of bone

refusing to bite the things I own.

The teeth are bent, the track is wide,

there’s too much life shoved deep inside.

I pull the slider with my breath held tight,

fighting the ghost of a moving night.

One strap is hanging by a frayed black hair,

swinging loose in the hallway air.

It’s time to admit that the fabric is done,

I’ve got too many pieces for only one.