My Backpack’s Memories
By: Mridula Murugan
It has carried my mornings,
crumbs from a granola bar, and a pen that leaks blue stress.
It’s leaned against classroom walls,
zipped tight during tests, dragged down every endless hallway.
On field trips, it’s watched cities blur past bus windows,
and once, sand from a beach vacation hid in its seams for months.
Every stain is a timestamp,
every tired zipper is a reminder of its journey.
It knows the weight of a long day,
and the lightness of Fridays.
Tomorrow, it will wait by the door again
ready to remember a little more.
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