Sewing, Rice Paper Purse

Dream Bag

by Jordan Bernal

Evening dress up
Black and gray with splash of color
I will hold your dreams

Evening Bag

by Linda Todd

I found an evening bag.
Brown and white swirls in pattern.
Yellow geese fly in formation
Over turbulent seas.
Rice paper says the tag.
Perfect complement
For my yellow dress.
I’ll take it to Belize.

Homeward

by Camille DeFer Thompson

Swirling clouds aloft
Russet earth beneath their wings
The snowy flock soars

Evening Bag

by Julaina Kleist-Corwin

Estate sale
Closet full of purses
Some brand new
With shoulder straps or not.
One beauty
A work of handmade art
Mine I claim
Now it graces my wall.
Feels divine
Rich layered silk design
I’ll not know
Evening bag creator
Who you are.

Delicate

by Diane Lovitt

Delicate but strong
A fluid image of flight
Coils around the clasp

The Auction

by Linda Todd

I wonder if I’m too late when I find a seat near the stage of the auditorium. If Roger and I hadn’t had that fight last night, I wouldn’t have had to stay at my mother’s, and then contend with the commute traffic. I should have stood my ground. After all, both our names are on the lease.

“For our next lot,” the barker shouts, “I present ‘Japanese Grandma & Grandpa’ created by non-other than Kathy Urban, the award winning successful author from Northern California.”

Just in time. I had seen the dolls in the catalog and could not believe my luck to have the opportunity to own something created by the hands of Kathy Urban, my favorite author.

“You won’t want to pass up these delightful dolls, with their silken white hair and colorful costumes. A perfect gift for the avid doll collector.

“Bidding starts at one hundred dollars.”

I had to have those dolls. I raised my paddle high so the auctioneers could see I meant business.

“One hundred bid, now two, now two, will ya give me two?

“Two hundred, I’ve got two, who’ll give me three?” The auctioneer continued his chant.

I look around to see who bid against me, but don’t see anyone. I only have five hundred to spend. At this rate, the bid price will soon go out of reach.

I raised my paddle again.

“Three hundred, now four, give me four. Will you give me four? This is for charity folks.

Open up those wallets.

“Three hundred, let’s make it four.”

The bidding seems to stop, I can see myself honoring my bid at the cashier, securing the dolls in their crate, and becoming their proud owner.

“Going once, going twice, four hundred to the man on the right. Give me five, can you give me five? Who’s going to make it five?”

I look down the aisle to see Roger at the far end lowering his paddle. What is he doing here? He hates these auctions. I should have never told him how much I wanted the dolls. After our fight last night, I’m not sure I can live with him anymore.

My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid it’s going to jump out of my chest and hit the barker in the face. Mine must be the winning bid. I raise my paddle a third time.

“Five hundred to the lady, do I hear six . . .”

I hold my breath, close my eyes, and listen to the auctioneers chant as he tries to entice other bidders.

“Six hundred going once, going twice. Six hundred ladies and gentlemen, for charity. Six hundred going once, going twice, and sold for five hundred to the lady.”

“Bang,” goes the gavel.

I let out my breath and refill my lungs with fresh oxygen. I did it. They’re mine. All mine.

Later at the cashier, I’m startled to see Roger when I turn to see who placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Congratulations,” he says.

“Why did you bid up the price?” I say. “Payback time?”

“No. I heard about the traffic jam between here and your mother’s. Thought you might not make it in time for the auction, so I came down. When I didn’t see you in the auditorium, I thought I’d do something nice for you. Try to make up for the nasty things I said last night.”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

The cashier held out a receipt and interrupted. “You can pick up your purchase at the counter around the corner. Next.”

I started to walk away. Away from Roger. Again.

The cashier continued, “Lot number?”

Roger said, “Five sixty.”

“‘Evening Bag’ by Sally Kimball.’ That’ll be four hundred and fifty dollars,” said the cashier.

I stop, turn around toward Roger. He smiles at me like the cartoon cat that harasses the canary. He takes the receipt from the cashier and joins me.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me?” He hands me his receipt. “A gift. For you. I’m sorry for what I said last night. I know you wanted the bag too. It’s yours.”

“You don’t get it. I don’t want things from you. I want you.”

He grabs my hand and gets down on one knee and before I can stop him, he says, “Then have me. I love you Miranda. More than I have ever loved anyone else. We can live out our lives until our hair is as white as the Grandma and Grandpa dolls. Will you marry me?”

“Here? This is where you decide to propose to me? At an auction?”

“It’s as good a place as any.” He showed his dimples and shrugged a shoulder.

“Say yes,” says a random voice behind me.

“Yeah, lady. Say yes. Don’t leave the man hanging,” says another voice to my right.

A crowd has gathered around us, waiting for my answer. Roger looks up with expectation in his eyes. Strangers cheer me on for an answer. This is what I had been waiting for these past two years. Can we still work after the mean things we said to each other? Do I still love this man?

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

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