
Rumi and the Red Handbag
Before I read “Rumi and the Red Handbag” by Shawna Lemay, I would have answered this question in a very literal way: all the things I think I might need on any given day. I am not a fashionista; my purse is just a necessary tool of life. This book made me see purses in a new way, as a metaphor for life.
“The purse is a diary containing the scattered sprawl and patient sticky grunge of life. It’s a skin, a husk, it holds guts and gizzards. Think of the disruptive depths, the darkness of a purse! The purse is a portal, a hinged door. It’s the heavy burden to the bruised portal of our intimate murky depths, our tranquil and far-off selves. We carry these objects relentlessly, courageously, anonymously, absentmindedly.”
And there is so much more!! Those words are part of a long soliloquy about purses by the character Ingrid-Simone, or I.s. as she is alternately known in the novel. She is one of two characters working in a shop called Theodora’s Fine Consignment Clothing (Lemay had me right there, I once dreamed of owning Theodosia’s Tea Shop in Glasgow KY…it captured my imagination) . Working with each other all day they become friends of a fashion, but though the character telling the story paints us a picture of I.s. as an amazing person, she discovers she didn’t know Ingrid-Simone at all.
This book is deceivingly short or small but so FULL of beautiful language and life lessons — just like a woman’s purse can be.
I have been following Shawna’s blog for a while (Transactions with Beauty) and really wanted to read her book (it came out in 2015). I ordered it online during quarantine. For me, it was like taking a bite of a freshly made truffle, and I savored the smooth deliciousness of it. And, thinking of my own purse, it inspired me to write a poem.
Overladen
Everything in my life is too small.
The purse I lug around
fat with old receipts,
salvaged change, and
everything I think I could need
on any given day.
My apartment and closet
crammed too — bursting with
things I refuse to give up.
Yet, I am frugal to the point
of deprivation;
I clutch tight with claws
and fists and defend,
defend my junkyard life
like a vicious dog.
All my life I’ve known nothing
but making do,
worrying the same old bone,
funneling my needs and dreams
into what I already have —
the only way I know to stay full —
constricting to fit the vessel.
In love too, I’ve shrunk what I want
into you:
someone I see so little,
someone whose life
is elsewhere — you —
holder of my stifled desire,
my dear old bone.
copyright 2020 Susan Merrifield Desrocher
But don’t be distracted by my poetic efforts…read the 140-pg book, “Rumi and the Red Handbag” which is one long beautiful poem, and maybe you’ll buy a new purse, or write a poem of your own.
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