The Purse

She hands me a wad of receipts and says “Here, hold these” I’m sitting, watching her fumble through her purse. She’s trying to put her wallet away. all the while talking to herself. “It used to fit. I’ve got too much in here. What am I going to do with it? Oh well, it’s all good. I don’t want a bigger purse. But I could get a smaller wallet. No that wouldn’t work either.” She is oblivious to me and everything around her. She’s pushing, pulling, removing, stuffing all at once. It’s called organizing and a glimpse into how she thinks. Adding, subtracting, mentally filing and discarding. I wondered what I was, in her life am i the wallet, holding the few, most important items items if lost could seriously disrupt and make life miserable for a long time but ultimately could be replaced. Was i one the receipts that help balance the checkbook, let her know where the money goes not that it mattered much if lost or tossed, would soon be forgotten was I the purse that held it all together not organized, but a safe harbor sometimes i think i’m the shoes important enough to be trusted to carry the load and protect her sole all the while being stepped on and stepping on things that she would never touch with her hands after a while, worn out and as with the receipts, forgotten about and discarded