Published in Reach Poetry, 273, June 2021
For sure, I'd gone on about it a bit,
'My Gran,' I said, 'had a wooden jewellery box on her dressing table. I loved opening the drawers,
playing with her earrings.' She wore long drops in silver with stones of jade, amethyst, of rubies
and sapphires that bounced as she moved.
I trailed the pretty stones through my fingers,
held them to my ears, admired myself in the mirror.
My mother, Mrs Brown, the dentist's wife, was too straightlaced for such fripperies. 'I'd love
a box like that,' I said to the man in my life. He took the hint, bought me a box with drawers.
So here I am, sitting at the kitchen table, tangled
beads, bangles, earrings, mostly in silver with coloured stones, the odd pair in gold,
my first wedding ring in a blue box, necklaces by Allen, (a silversmith) strewn in a heap -
a heap of mixed-up memories, silver, sapphire, gold.