When we were little the pearls
Around our necks glowed
In plastic glory, our thin throats
Swanning in pleasure. Girls
Of a certain age owed so much
To the add-on authority of
Adult investiture. Lately, moats
Of beauty bind the fragile
Pulse, muscular protection
Against slings and arrows aimed
At the jugular. Bring us solace,
With which to erect our ramparts.
The cry beads into the waters,
A crystaline necklace.
Lovely. Enjoyed reading the past and the present in your poem.
ReplyDeleteThank you Indhu :) I'm newly struck by how much pleasure we took in random things as children, and how much solace they still bring as grown ups very much in need of solace.
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