It ain’t heavy, it’s my purse
by Marge Piercy
(published in her 1992 book, Mars and Her Children, Knopf)
We have marsupial instincts, women
who lug purses as big as garbage igloos,
women who hang leather hippos from their shoulders:
we are hiding the helpless greedy naked worms
of our intentions shivering in chaos.
In bags the size of Manhattan studio apartments,
we carry not merely the apparatus of neatness
and legality, cards, licenses, combs,
mirrors, spare glasses, lens fluid,
but hex signs against disaster and loss.
Antihistamines—if we should sneeze.
Painkillers—suppose the back goes out.
Snake bite medicine—a copperhead
may lurk in the next subway car.
Extra shoes—I may have to ford a stream.
On my keyring, flats I used to stay in,
a Volvo I traded in 1985, two unknown doors
opening on what I might sometime direly need.
Ten pens, because the ink may run out.
Band-aids, safety pins, rubber bands, glue,
maps, a notebook in case, addresses of friends
estranged. So we go hopping lopsided, women
like kangaroos with huge purses bearing hidden
our own helplessness and its fancied curves.
Happy New Year!
I was initially hoping to find a poem about beginnings, or endings, or transitions, or resolutions, or something fitting of a new year (I read a lot of poems this morning!) and then I came across this one, in my book signed by Piercy, and I thought that a poem that mixes humor and defeat was perfect for a new year. The fact that I wonder if the poet were writing about me is pure coincidence!
The title--a lovely riff on "He ain't heavy, he's my brother." Piercy is an expert at playing with gender norms, sexism, and women's roles, and I appreciate this little jab. Men get to be deep and philosophical, women get to haul around material stuff in large bags.
Her claim that we women who do carry enormous bags do so because it is not just instinct, but an instinct from an animal, delights me. It goes beyond ancestral DNA. And later in the poem we have hippos, worms, snakes, and kangaroos--quite an assortment of animals playing different roles in this poem.
Of course, the beauty in this poem is in the details. Items are listed (cards, licenses, combs,
mirrors, spare glasses, lens fluid) with their purpose (neatness and legality) and then we get more insight as to why these things are in our bags. And the reasons become more outrageous as we go. Sure, medicinal things--just in case--make sense. But snake bite medication? In Manhattan? Extra shoes?
Back to reality with the keys. I know have have keys like this, although I no longer keep them on my keyring. There is one in my desk drawer right now that I looked at yesterday, wondered what it was for, and left it there.
Then there is another list, adding to the warding off of "disaster and loss." And there is nothing surreal here--I have all of these things in my bag (although the maps and contacts are in my phone these days). A little more visual humor here--"hopping lopsided" (great sounds in that phrase) and then the killer ending.
Our purses hide our helplessness! But not just helplessness--it is fancy and curved (our dressed bodies? the purses? I think yes to both). I like to think that my bag is filled wth my OCD reaction to the Girl Scout motto: Be Prepared. However, the gender-ing of purses that Piercy is skewering here is apt. The majority of men are not lugging around a drugstore+ with them. Women are. Ready to nurse, soothe, make pretty, and save.
Again, I love poems that use humor to make huge points, and Piercy does this throughout her poetry. Sexism is her usual topic, but she does this with a variety of themes.
I hope you enjoyed this poem as much as I do! See you on Sunday!
Comments