about ziplock bags. those slippery sheets folded into double layered squares. i pull the top edges apart to feel and hear the music of separation. unlocking the two strips of puzzle pieces kissed together, these are the pockets that hold our daily p-butter j's, advil, chips, grapes and q-tips; goldfish, crayons, stamps, and pogs; marbles, carrots, coins, and coupons. every time i spot a plastic baggie i look around before i snag-it. "another baggie!" i think to myself, and another compartment to my life. i wonder if anyone else shares my attraction. the seducing thought of packing; filling pockets with categories, the divide being only the plastic in between. i press the puzzle pieces back together, and slide my fingers down the closing line. thank you, for holding [me] my things.