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?
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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! You
soft
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!)Labels: Femme au chapeau, poem, purses