my mother had a charm bracelet.
my aunt had one.
I have one.
someday my daughter will have one too.
but for now, mine is hers,
each trinket traced and jingled by
her slender fingers—
claimed, counted, chronicled,
identified one by one:
here’s a sand dollar,
a flowered cross,
a Texas (deep in the heart),
a teacup with spoon,
a tiny Bible
(no the pages don’t open),
a cat with curled tail,
and an ‘ichthus’ fish,
end of litany.
and the chain!
she insists,
liquid links
that connect everything.
Yes,
in my haste to count
the shiny things
I always forget the One thing
on which everything else depends.


written quickly so I wouldn't forget