My Purse

I looked and I searched, I moved my things around.
The keys did not materialize; They were nowhere to be found

“How shall we enter? The door is locked.
“We need a thief,” he gently mocked.

Tissues and cards, money and bills,
A paper and a pencil, a bottle of pills.

A packet of chips, a forgotten grocery list
A family photograph, a bracelet for my wrist.

A tiny sewing kit, some crayons and a band-aid
A receipt, lip-gloss and a bill that had not been paid.

Two lipsticks, some coins, a comb, a spray
Some toffees and Oreo cookies joined the fray.

As the pile grew, my husband looked inflamed.
“Goodness gracious!” he finally exclaimed.

“Is it a purse or do you carry a trunk?
How can you tolerate so much junk?”

“Just a few more things;” I barely mumbled.
I searched some more and more things tumbled.

My purse nearly empty, I felt no better
My fingers found something; it was a letter.

I opened it slowly; what joy it brought
Two sheets of love and a dreamy thought

Written by the man who stood by my side
Many years ago he had made me his bride.

The man who stood by my side!

“Didn’t I give the keys to you? I remembered with a shout.
He put his hands in the pocket and slowly pulled them out.

Tables turned, now he placated while I fumed
A stormy night ahead, he correctly assumed

“I’ll buy you a new purse with much more space”
He promised as I stood there with a grim, stony face.

He gathered my stuff and made a neat stack
Slowly he stood up and straightened his back.

“Just one question whose answer I lack.
Do you want a purse or would you like a sack?”

Laughter bubbled and everything was right
We went inside with a future bright.

My purse once more full of my cherished treasure
Priceless stuff, their value no one can measure.