All I could do this morning
was change purses
retire spring summer
for fall winter
pull out my wallet, keys
ravished Q-tips, tissues
dried with last season’s
snot, mystery hard candy
from Chi Dynasty
my dead father’s money clip
that I carry for good luck
though it never brought him any
pull it all out, set it aside.
I will cram the out of season
pink and purple daisy dotted
handbag into the back of my closet
to discover next April
when I will do the reverse—
switch back, toss memories
I’ve yet to have, ones I will vaguely
remember from shorter days to come,
when the sky darkens at the end
of a long lunch—a ticket
from a museum in New York I’ve yet to visit,
a red crayon I won’t recall, a matchbook
from that restaurant we don’t love,
but always return to. I think we were there
last November—that place with the salty
garlic almonds. We got there before the first
snowfall, in a city where snow never falls.