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