My Mother’s Purse
Cleaning out her bedroom closet before I sold the house,
I discovered it in a graveyard of old purses, stocked with
ticket stubs, and subway tokens, a pair of yellowed
leather gloves. Capacious as the womb that housed me,
wallet bulging, dispensary of coins and folded bills,
condiments and sweets. Both hospital and supermarket.
it weighed her shoulder down. Soon it will join her
gold teeth, comb—all that will mean nothing once I’m gone.
*
Robbi Nester is the author of four books of poetry and editor of three anthologies. She is a retired college educator and elected member of the Academy of American Poets. Her website is at RobbiNester.net
Nice work, Robbi.
Lovely poem. Love Robbi’s work!
Oh, yes, the purses….And at this point in life, I can’t imagine carrying one, let alone stuffing it with all that you describe and more. And yet the memories of purse contents—in my case, my Grandma’s, are keen in my senses…The smell of raspberry-filled hard candies and Kraft caramels, and the smooth sucking, then crunch for the first, and wildly delicious chewy, buttery taste of the second. Thank you for triggering my memories once again!
So touching, Robbie. Though I cleaned the contents from Mom’s final purse after she left us two days after my 75th birthday in 2021, I have not parted with the purse. When I unzip it, the light fragrance of her perfume is mixed with the scent of hard candy her doctor’s office kept by the appointment checkout desk. I found it for her at Staples so she had it when she could no longer go for his care. In skilled care, she said it helped cover the metallic tastes of meds. At almost 78, I understand. Thanks for this bittersweet poem.
A strong ending to a very good poem!