Nana’s Purse. Day 303.

Blue Original Trident to cut in half and warm with her January mouth, 
a folded dollar bill to toss into the golden collection plate, 
an un-used Kleenex or two, creased into a clean, soft square, 
small, angular sample lipstick from Avon, one red one light-pink, 
a carbon charge card receipt for Caldor: Lavender blouse and L'eggs, 
a white, flat Sunday wallet, vegan leather with hidden cracks, 
the Mastercard with a Venn circle. Red and yellow. 
Yellow legal paper with blue cursive script: scallions, eggs, hot sauce, 
transition lenses and a smirk on a laminated driver's license, 
a photo of her daughter, my ma, hand on chin, middle-part, senior year, 
small brown jar of pills, very tiny pills, 
a silver, metal, pointy nail file. 
Closed with a golden metal ball-clasp. Thunk. 
Held with her delicate, cleanly manicured hand.  
Thumb on the back near her pin-striped blazer, four fingers in the front. 
Right hand, but writes with left. 
White, shiny polish.