To Folders

Bent, warped, recycled.

Last year's Health class, this year's Musical Theater.

Red, Blue, Yellow, White

Bloods and Crips together in one metal bin.

How do you escape from your notebook and jump from 1st to 4th period?

Why are you upside down and where is your name?

And why oh why do you have NOTHING in you?

Because of you my knuckles are scraped and raw from digging.

Because of you my eyes are blurred from searching.

Because of you I've become my mother who can find the things.

"Ms. Jamie, my folder's not here. I swear."

"I'll find it."
And I do.

All those times Mom found my socks/homework/bookbag/lunchbox.

Yeah, karma's a bitch.

You matter because you are there. Keep things organized. Are a place to put the blank and half done worksheets.

A promise of the beacon of progressive education: the student portfolio.

Yet right know you're the cause of my Tuesday night headache.

You're safe in your bin now.

Please stay put.

At least until 3rd.