Contributor Series 10: Silken Rags
Jewelry Box Magic
By Phyllis Johnson
The jewelry box sits,
so many stories it could tell
Like a scrapbook of memories
glistening, shining, full of love
In a gem-like form.
A blue stone from a trip to an island,
she’d picked it up, the sales person
wouldn’t let up until she’d bought it.
With a shine, it sparkled, not losing
the gloss- or the history it bore.
A heart-shaped crystal glittered.
Hanging from a gold pendant,
played with by her baby, now grown
And worn with a wedding dress.
It shone like her tears.
Diamond earrings, sparkling,
they spoke of parties and weddings
sitting next to magnetic beads.
Did they attract men and money?
I wonder.
I pause over the gems, take a deep breath
And select a piece.
Hold it up to my neck, listen to it whisper
and think about her stories of wearing it.
Each piece having its own magic.
Phyllis Johnson’s poem Drifting Wood appeared here in December 2009.
Nicely done, this is so authentic. Nobody knows about magnetic beads.
vivid imagery makes you read on. I loved the last verse.
Lovely, just lovely.