Too Many Purses
I have too many purses. There, now you know too much about me. Character flaw: fashion hoarding. Too many scarves, too. And strings of pearls -- that would need a whole other blog post. In celebration of flaws and how they can become houses, boats, toolkits, and other things, here is my poem. Coach Handbags should send me a freebie, don't you think?
Ode to My Purse
The three French handbags came with lifetime warranties. Clasping heavy straps, I cinch them saddle-tight against the grasping world. Dark wells, they incubate details, stash my days in hidden rooms. My black postman’s case clacks clock-neat on thigh, ticking tasks. Weekends I sling a red pouch that eats torn tickets and topless lipsticks. Keys to many locks eel through my caramel creel. Open Purse, I say: swallow phone, glasses, cash. Bring home to me, magician’s hat. I chant, lovely Coach-crafted clutch, catch! Yousoft maw, yawn to gorge and stow my emblems. Stretch and hold the zoo of me, the proof, spoil and tool.
From my book Femme au chapeau
-- first published in The Atlanta Review (Thanks, Dan Veach!)
Ode to My Purse
The three French handbags came with lifetime warranties. Clasping heavy straps, I cinch them saddle-tight against the grasping world. Dark wells, they incubate details, stash my days in hidden rooms. My black postman’s case clacks clock-neat on thigh, ticking tasks. Weekends I sling a red pouch that eats torn tickets and topless lipsticks. Keys to many locks eel through my caramel creel. Open Purse, I say: swallow phone, glasses, cash. Bring home to me, magician’s hat. I chant, lovely Coach-crafted clutch, catch! Yousoft maw, yawn to gorge and stow my emblems. Stretch and hold the zoo of me, the proof, spoil and tool.
From my book Femme au chapeau
-- first published in The Atlanta Review (Thanks, Dan Veach!)
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