Mookychick Online

Kate Spade Wallet

Poem by Kristin Garth

Eulogy in sonnet form to Kate Garth

Depression, black, the Kate Spade wallet pushed

down deep inside my Barbie pink Coach purse.

Its zipped, compressed plastic essentials,

smushed

identity — an empty paper curse

of days in pocket, tainted currency

transacted from a toxic world.  Two gifts

my mother gave me, the accessories

of womanhood for days when bodies lift

their skeletons from silk designer tombs,

wear leather, pastel cheerfulness that masks,

beneath lipsticks, a cadaver exhumed

decomposing in sunlight while you bask.

When subterfuge of suffering is art,

you see just pink not the black, buried heart.

Friend: I think I have a ghost--

Me: Sea salt.

Friend: I am moving into a new place--

Me: Sea salt.

Friend: I am making dinner--

You will need:

A journal or something to write with

An almond

Lavender oil.

The first step is to get clear on what you actually want to say by writing it out.

Penelope, they exile thee, Vermont,

to blizzards, bunks to board with me.  A lass

less regal, you eschew, no debutante,

no bonds, no blood of blue.  A commoner, crass

without a dress, your silks, tiaras, carved

Sometimes my foot bleeds because I step on the broken piece

in the corner where I sometimes sit,

sometimes sit, due to poor posture and lack of air and manners.

Everyone else thinks the air comes from the top,

but I drilled a hole in the side.

I put my mouth to it and suck in the cool morning breeze,

fill myself up, then sit and stare—holding as much air as possible so as not to burp and be in excess

of opinion.