Beads

The mother wears beads.

Beads like chips of crimson nail polish,
beads like birds' eyes strung on amber,
beads like the unfolding of crumpled paper,
beads leaping like surfacing dolphins,
spit colored beads.

Beads of wood exuding piny odors,
seed beads sprouting in the damp air,
beads with wry faces like the phases of the moon,
beads like quarter notes played pizzicato.
Glow in the dark beads filled with holy water,
beads of rolled construction paper,
beads bouncing like superballs,
beads which are car parts on holiday,
Beads of beaten copper and punished silver, traumatized gold,
beads of jealousy like marcasite pins,
beads which sprout Rapunseline hair,
and beads with wings like singing birds.



© Copyright 1999 Cat Francis.
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