Handbag by Ruth Fainlight

My mother's old leather handbag,
crowded with letters she carried
all through the war. The smell
of my mother's handbag: mints
and liptsick and Coty powder.
The look of those letters, softened
and worn at the edges, opened,
read, and refolded so often.
Letters from my father. Odour
of leather and powder, which ever
since then has meant womanliness,
and love, and anguish, and war.



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4 comments:

Kavya said...

hi! interesting..the poem spoke beyond itself..
can't u add a short blurb of sorts describing the poem or the poet at the end of the poems? it wud make for an interesting context..:)

womens purse said...

Yeah. The poem is very nice. I wonder if you wrote this?

emma aldridge said...

No. This was written by Ruth Fainlight. She was born in 1931 in America but moved to England aged 15 just after the war ended.

emma aldridge said...

No. This was written by Ruth Fainlight. She was born in 1931 in America but moved to England aged 15 just after the war ended.