Author Topic: Purse  (Read 18 times)


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    • Graves BíHamala
« on: February 13, 2020, 09:32:32 PM »
I unzipped the top of my mother's floppy pleather purse, weathered and peeling from tossing and sliding it all around town, toting a full day's supplies for each of her four rambunctious boys. It was far from the status symbol purse many vain women clutch daintily to impress their friends, purchased unphased or possibly even oblivious to the price tag, with money from their lawyer, doctor, or contractor husbands, buying love now in their aging working bodies. Not my mom..she owned a purse out of utility more than anything else, whipping out a snack to stuff in our mouths silencing us when the habitual complaint of starvation. Or the wretched Bactine that would sting worse than the brush burns, cuts, or scrapes that covered our dirtied arms and legs. Nestled deeply in the crevasse of her arm, it was an extension of herself. Today I was on the search for the gum I knew she had recently purchased. They say you should never go through a woman's purse, but minty freshness was on the mind and could not be contained. I dug through metallic hairspray bottles, tortoise combs I found hilariously and insanely large, digging through a few layers of crumbs I had struck gold! Wintery fresh gold! I attempted to silently zip the sack back up as I heard her yell my name to get out of her purse! I quickly mushed it back into its original form, as a few pieces of brown flakes floated to the ground.


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