by Hilary King

Not upright and boxy as my predecessors,
I was lean and long and tan. I was modern.
I was her pet, wasn’t I? It was me she loved,
me she wanted to be with first, later, last.
Not the husband, the lovers, the betrayers.
Interrupted from our hour by her daughter,
she flung me at that daughter. And Reader,
I leapt into mother’s violence, my keys of steel
clacking, my carriage swinging, my ribbon spooling
to be back alone with my mistress, to be teased
by her nicotine-scented fingers. Don’t pretend,
Writer, you haven’t lifted your instrument, hefted
its weight in a clenched fist when another voice
calling your false name pierces the lovely, empty page.

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Originally from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, Hilary King is a poet now living in the San Francisco Bay Area of California. Her poems have appeared or will appear in Ploughshares, TAB, Salamander, Belletrist, Fourth River, The Cortland Review, and other publications. She is the author of the book of poems, The Maid’s Car. She is currently studying for her MFA degree at San Jose State University, where she is a Steinbeck Fellow.

by Hilary King

The day my 10-year-old daughter started taking Prozac,
I go full baggallini. Cry-walk into my local gift shop,
stationery in the back, greeting cards up front,
in between bath salts, travel alarms, fuzzy socks.
This was my mother’s store. Not mine. Not

yet. Please not yet the need for socks both fuzzy
and slip-proof. Couldn’t I still trust where I tread
in the world? Until my daughter needed a pill
to push through her clouds, I kept my dreams loose,
tossed into whatever I carried with me every day.

I was ambitious and Christ my shoulder hurt, carrying
a bag full of notebooks,books, pens, lipstick,
another notebook, another book.
If an hour or an idea appeared, I was ready.
Now, therapists and teacher conferences later,

I wanted a separate pocket each for
grief, for anger, for courage.
What I needed to be ready for now
had to be packed precisely and worn throughout the body,
right across the heart.

*TBT contest winner! This poem won First Place in the “Poetry for Purses” Competition in honor of Kate Spade and suicide prevention.

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Hilary King won SWIMM’s 2019 Kate Spade “Purses for Poetry” Contest, although she claims not to be a purse person. Her poems have appeared in Minerva Rising, Fourth River, Belletrist, PANK, Blue Fifth Review, Cortland Review and other publications. She is the author of the book of poems The Maid’s Car. Originally from Virginia, she now lives in the San Francisco Bay Area of California.

by Hilary King

The day my 10-year-old daughter started taking Prozac,
I go full baggallini. Cry-walk into my local gift shop,
stationery in the back, greeting cards up front,
in between bath salts, travel alarms, fuzzy socks.
This was my mother’s store. Not mine. Not

yet. Please not yet the need for socks both fuzzy
and slip-proof. Couldn’t I still trust where I tread
in the world? Until my daughter needed a pill
to push through her clouds, I kept my dreams loose,
tossed into whatever I carried with me every day.

I was ambitious and Christ my shoulder hurt, carrying
a bag full of notebooks,books, pens, lipstick,
another notebook, another book.
If an hour or an idea appeared, I was ready.
Now, therapists and teacher conferences later,

I wanted a separate pocket each for
grief, for anger, for courage.
What I needed to be ready for now
had to be packed precisely and worn throughout the body,
right across the heart.

*This poem won First Place in the “Poetry for Purses” Competition in honor of Kate Spade and suicide prevention.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hilary King is lives in the San Francisco Bay Area of California. She writes poetry as a way of witnessing, as an aid to memory, as a way to explore the ever enduring mystery of human beings. Her poems have appeared in Fourth River, Belletrist, PANK, Blue Fifth Review, Cortland Review, Mom Egg Review, Gyroscope, and other publications. She is the author of the book of poems, The Maid's Car. She has an 12-year-old daughter and 14-year-old son.