Trinket by Ivan M. Granger

Trinket by Ivan M. Granger

Mother,
you are too practical,
trying to put
this odd lump
to good use.
Melt me down.
Make of me
some golden trinket,
some frivolous, bejeweled thing
to please
your eye.
Hang me
from your ear;
let me rest
against the warm pulse
of your neck.
Go ahead, Mother,
it is just you and I
before the mirror.
I won’t tell
if you want to spin
and laugh
like a girl
to see
this bit of glitter
set off
your smile.

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