Dark Blue Purse When grandmother came to call, her white-gloved hands grasping a dark blue purse held closed by a fine silver clasp, she sat primly in a straight backed chair with ankles so close together as if tied with my father’s twine. The purse was sitting in her lap nestled on her suit of herringbone; my eyes followed strands of stitching along its sides until they disappeared under the curved leather edge. While adults sipped sweet tea and talked of life my child’s eyes were drawn to her dark blue purse, longing for the silver clasp to open, to peer inside, emitting the fragrance of my grandmother, her lace handkerchief misted lightly with lavender, its odor wafting silently up causing my eyes to close, aroma seeping slowly into my sinuses - breathing in the nectar. Others may have wished the tightly closed purse to open for their own reasons; but I longed for the fragrance of her, the lavender depths of her dark blue purse Julie A. Dickson
