My Age Defiance

“You probably have a snack somewhere in your purse”, he said

                                                                                “because you’re a mom.”

But what I pulled out were kind words and a smile – traded that 

for my dismay and a thunderclap across his face. 

In the bottom of my purse I have a plastic bag: a Ziploc of desires.

It’s filled with Peter Jordan, only the first half of our Argentine romance. 

I tore the paper where he started to spin webs of doubt and kept the sheepskin rugs 

and the violin and some red wine, malbec.

I’ve also got the paystub from the last big job I did not take.

Barcelona keys to apartments where I’d left my black mesh stockings drying on the line.  

The late morning sun shining; bougainvillea covered white-washed walls; 

fresh orange juice pressed and poured into a glass;

a slice of baguette waiting for me to add butter.

Coffee so strong it knocked me off my ass.

Way down in the corner, my crumpled smudged belief in peace and freedom, from 

wiping bottoms and tying laces and remembering and reminding and recording it all. 

A time I used to know, I’d ride my bike, with shiny fenders and a honking horn, 

right through Cheesman Park. Watch gay men flirt in the shadows of white columns; 

park police hand tickets to the owners of dogs who’d dropped the leash.  

I’d park in front of the World Trade Center and snake the lock through chrome spokes

before zooming up twenty seven floors to work. 

Here too, a sharps container, small and round, for instruments I’ve used

to cause pain in sisters – make them question who they are and yes, love me, too.  

I may have hurt my chances for winning that prize; I didn’t post the letter; I didn’t board the bus;

I didn’t practice hard enough or turn in my words on time.  

And here’s a painful heartache that I never felt. 

A crinkled bag of love now. That is where I’ve gone to get your answer 

about those snacks. Used up all my magic to turn those memories 

of who I was before I birthed those babies 

into an open bag of peanut flavored crunch,

and melty salty goodness,

it’s all right here.

I’m a mom now. I carry a purse.

Are you hungry for a life well lived?