Hidden, with a small box of beads, in a space
between Dads’ yell and his parents low rumble
There I was, at the bottom, each one as small
as I could make myself,
in that underbed cave of dust and mothballs,
grey-greenwhite pearls loose and dead as fish eyes
and a small silver tear shaped clasp, studded with crystal,
almost a shimmer of scales and lock for what, I wondered.
Treasures rolled around, tangled in a string of Coral, warm
rose and clemantine, fairy bones, verterbrae, I didn’t know;
imagined chunks of semi precious stones fixed
in tarnished filligree to be fruit trapped in seaweed.
You were in a stone castle, he said,
where the angels wore aprons he said,
we would get another baby for Christmas.
He cajoled and shouted to come, now,
it was time to bring the new jewel home.
I put my dreams aside, and learned to walk
upright, with a child on each hip.