MY MOTHER'S PEARLS

My mother left to me a string of pearls;

segmented worm, it coils within my hand.

Lustrous, clammy, submarine, it feels

around my neck a chilly, alien chain.

 

Adornment suited to the social whirls

of the demure, conventional, or grand.

Its formal, cultured nuances appeal

to those who would regard me with disdain.

 

I hated ribbons, loathed my hair in curls,

I wasn’t quite the daughter she had planned;

climbing trees and running though the fields,

this dirty, freckled tomboy caused her pain.

 

I'm not one of those Audrey Hepburn girls,

I loved to argue; quick to take a stand.

Unkempt, ungroomed, six foot in Cuban heels

I could sink a pint, and use my brain.

 

I loose the clasp, the stony strand unfurls

these jewels founded on a grain of sand.

For me to wear them would be an ordeal;

I throw them in the jewellery box again.