The end of 2015 is the
emptying of a handbag, worn down
with wear over the past year, faux leather
strap cracking into fractals of time. In it,
what do we find?
Crumpled paper containing
smudged numbers forming lips on
the other end of the phone,
lips that form names I once scratched into backs
and whispered under hot breath.
Leaves with caked on mud from a rainy overnight-
sat under the large tent, a vivid memory of an
apology for saying “fuck” in front of a
group of twelve year old boys.
Several condom wrappers with dried red
lipstick on seams where I tore the
package open with impatient teeth.
Mechanical pencils with erasers that look
like chewed up dog toys and a sketch book
filled with postures and half finished faces-
Guitar picks stowed in crevices that hide
the words to songs I haven’t set to
melodies I haven’t created yet.
Breath mints and chapstick and
a small diary containing calorie counts
of roasted peanuts. A tube of fruity lip gloss.
A small vial containing a perfume that
perfectly mimics her scent. A few loose
pieces of gum that taste like him.
A small wallet containing ticket stubs
and a copy of the WMATA bus schedule.
A business flyer with some advice about
biking around D.C. scribbled on the back
with an apology regarding legibility.
Some lint, dust, and a scattering of
orphaned letters of words that
never came to fruition when I sat
down to write.
A note scribbled on the back
of a bank receipt;
“Next year I’ll do better.”