Elastic #1

“They didn’t make it,” she said.
a blink; She’s trying
“Babies”
(release)
Her eyes, falling

“They opened them up, and inside…”
Her hands spin, and wind
tumbling in, on tight dives, in orbit

Her eyes rise, to meet mine
a plea, inside
I know it’s hard for her to say
“Elastic”

“This is why, it’s so important
to notice these things”
A little band, raised
A swaying stray
Not so unlike the ones I carry

What if it’s mine?

“I agree” feels weak
as it tumbles out, “I mean…”
“I try my best to pick up any I see”

She nods (I’m free)
No accusation to meet
“That’s good; I see mama, and baby feeding”

“They must think they’re worms, see”
Rubber wiggles between
her two-finger, pinched beak
gliding open, and shut - to eat
making mistakes, in imitation

Her eyes find ease, it’s fine
A sea bird’s laughing cry
seems to speak
“…and who can blame them?”

Back of the Page

In October, I was finishing up on the final stop of my postal route, when a woman approached me. She was calm, and kind, but carried concern with her.

"Do you know about the storks?" she asked, plainly. I could tell this was leading somewhere important to her.

As she spoke, a story unfolded - there was a baby stork found, dead, not so long ago. And when they opened it up, they found a tangle of elastics (rubber bands) inside its stomach. It ate them, thinking they were worms.

That's awful, I thought, knowing well what I carried: an entire route's worth of elastics - spent, and tangled at the bottom of my bags, having served their purpose wrapping the hundreds of pounds of mail I had just delivered. Tiny culprits, all of them. If not directly responsible for any harms done, yet, they were all at least guilty as a reminder; a potentiality.

I did my best to listen fully, and understand what she was saying. Some of them fall, accidentally, I know. It was my first month on the job, but I had seem them lying about, now and then. It's funny what you start to notice, once you have a personal connection: things start appearing that you never seemed to see before.

So, I began to pick them up, obviously, whenever I'd see them.

This is an unfolding story, and one that will continue in the "Elastic" series. I won't spoil where it's going just yet.

Have you ever felt indirectly responsible for a greater harm, even though you didn't intend or know if your actions contributed to it?

Do you ever start noticing things hidden in plain sight, only after you develop more of a personal connection to that thing?

I'd love to know.

-Van