The Paddock Review

HIDING PLACES

 

 

 

I would sink my hands in the deep of a purse, 

plunging wrist-deep in dark; fingering 

 

leather crevices sewn shut with silk stitches, 

or buttoned, clinched with bronze and silver 

 

figures etched in miniature: anchors, flowers, 

nonsensical symmetry of circles.

 

I’d run fingernails in bladed searching

like a figure skater, or pop with effort stubborn snaps 

 

to break into the deep insides. I’d sift 

through woven strands of crystal gilded 

 

in sockets, snaking threads on wrists and fingers, 

sunk and squirming in the cool metal, lifting swarms

 

of gold, letting fall again in piles left slumped,

groped now and then by my hands 

 

shutting reluctantly their brightness out of sight. 

Shoes too, stoic in rows, I’d shove roughly over hands

 

to the tips of toes, clapping together heel and palm, 

gloved in pink pumps, black flats; sliding fingers 

 

through loops of sandals—all returned at the sound 

of father bumping furniture, mother

 

creaking floorboards. I’d hide in the folds of clothes,

sneaking along the back, brushing lightly

 

dresses draped in dry-cleaning plastic, 

or pantsuits rough against my skin; nightgowns 

 

and blouses blown back at my grabbing handfuls 

stopping my fall—heard, certainly, 

 

rummaging always for some unplumbed treasure, 

some fact of my only knowing.

…….

This poem is from the book Leaving Troy by Joshua Kulseth (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/leaving-troy-by-joshua-kulseth/