The Secret Life of Pearls

 

It sits inside the soft dipped U of her throat:

“something white” pried loose from the mouth

of the Australian South Sea and

hung on a gold chain.

 

The alarm of clinking glasses

forces another kiss.

My mother whispers from behind her place card.

Can you imagine how much all this cost?

I drink my champagne

and  imagine the hidden tree fort,

a game for only a girl and a boy,

that He,

(and later she)

insisted all children play.

 

My mother leads a conga line

of  sisters, uncles, nephews and nieces.

She finds Him at the end

closes the circle,

clasps hands to hips.

 

I imagine it expelled onto the white tablecloth,

amongst the origami napkins, the sugared almonds.

I imagine it glistening on the fine bone china,

The thirteen years of nacre.

I imagine the cost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About Heidi Stauff

Ultimately ending up in Atlanta, Heidi's creative impulses followed many paths. She delivered middle-class, white-girl, angst to tens and twenties of Generation-Xers through the now defunct rock-band, Belljar. She designed hundreds of dresses for Disney-bound little girls. She birthed two babies she now homeschools, lost and then found her faith again, and writes about all of it in her free time: which is usually after midnight with a glass or three of wine.
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3 Responses to The Secret Life of Pearls

  1. Bela Johnson says:

    So lovely, Heidi. Your words are so powerful. Aloha.

    Like

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