Perfection, like a pearl, is overrated.
String together enough and you
can strangle yourself
into eternity.
No, pearls are nice, like ice,
but night always comes
and in the shadows
a single moonstone’s subtle shimmer seems
more tanalizing than pearls or diamonds.
So scour the ground, the emerald trees,
the back of your closet, your best
friend’s aquamarine eyes.
Pick out each precious thing and savor it.
Look at your hands, with citrine gold
glowing between your fingers.
Plop ruby kisses into your mouth
and roll them around on your tongue.
Touch someone you love with
the warmth of your palm.
Hold sapphire tranquility
at the hollow of your neck.
Breathe deeply, close
your eyes, let amber
memories take you where they will.
Brush ancient turquoise across
your belly to cool a fever.
Set envy, with its bloodstone green and
red spots of iron, far away from the rest.
Run your toes through them all.
Pick one every day,
drop it in a pouch on a string,
carry over your heart
and sing.
Previously published in The Circle Book: A Conejos County Anthology, 2014
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