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
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