After Gerald Stern
Here, in this handbag, I carry a portable particle collider.
Here, in this handbag, I carry a Toronto neighbourhood.
I carry the stigma of left-handedness.
I carry four lost poems of unknown poets.
The index from the anthology
that swallowed them whole.
In a side pocket,
three recordings of Leonard Cohen.
In a back pocket,
the pods of last year’s caterpillars.
I carry the wings of two dead flies.
In the folds of the lining, I carry
dust balls from the toes of Bastet.
Spare change: Four dimes, a nickel and
one deceased penny.
