Written by Sofya Maxnide  |

It stands out

A huge white blob amongst the red little things

At the end of each tingly feeler of the strong tree

Clinging to the outstretched arms of the living tree

Not even a parasite can I call it for its not alive

In any sense but yet it strangles that poor branch high above my reach.

The wind, I wish it would

blow stronger instead of this feeble breeze, 

and rip its strangling arms away from this sad tree. 

I wish wind would play with blob like it always does and fill its 

void with empty air, sweep it here and there until it lands

In someone’s yard, forces them to pick it up to hopefully shove it far away. 

But where is that white blob to go?

Once it reaches tree, yard, or far away is gone from sight 

but not from mind, for I know just like all things on earth it

Yearns to be with its kind, with Mommy and Daddy bag it’s

Looking to find identity as something useful; wants to be a subject of pride.

Look at my bag, it wishes to hear.

It’s ethically sourced and sustainable too, there’s nothing to

Fear, it can be useful for you, over and over and over again,

My bag has become something I can’t live without, I use it so 

Much, it’s a part of my identity and even closer than my best friend, do you have one too?

But the plastic bag in the spring tree

Has never heard these words before, instead its used once for 

Necessity but mostly for garbage for that’s what is thought of

A white plastic bag; made to use and sometimes abuse but never 

Understood as something to be transformed into, perchance, something good. 

I look at the tree once more and see no plastic bag anymore 

I wonder if it the breeze took it away or if the Plastic Bag in Blossoming Tree heard my plea