My mom’s jewelry box

We looked through

the old credit cards

where she keeps our

social security cards.

I looked for the loose earrings

one of a cupid

and one of a seashell.

They seem so distant

and its hard for me to imagine

a sparkle on her ear

where a gold cupid

shoots an arrow to the sky.

A gold heart with a key

going through it,

she said that was the first

piece of jewelry my Dad

gave her.

But now all she wears

are thumb rings and

braided leather.

 

My moms not dead.

but the old chains and

lockets,

never old chewed pearls

or old receipts that build

like dust,

she keeps them in a wooden

box she painted, before

I can remember, its like

one of those keepsake places

people put their dead

grandma’s rings.

 

Sara Moran

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