Struck me as though
we were all just trying
to hold it together—
our whole lives
accumulated
into pinched expressions,
hands on the knees,
the bit of hair
dented from sleep.
Fumbling for the phone
as it buzzes
in pockets
we can’t reach,
the bowels of purse
we carry like a cave
under ourselves—
“I don’t know what half this shit is anymore”
we’ll say with a half-laugh
as the semis circle
and the train bullets on.
Lonely Girl Travels 
“the bowels of purse
we carry like a cave
under ourselves—”
that line there – worth the price of admission all by itself