My Mother's Jewelry

By Abhijna Nagaraja

Grief is the jewelry in my mother's wooden boxes,

And she adorns them with pride. 

The jewels that hang so deep from her neck all look and shine 

Of her past and her crime.

Grief is the jewelry in my mother's wooden boxes,

And I am never allowed to touch her accessories.

She hides them away from me as though she is protecting me,

But I already know their sadness when I see them reflect in her eyes.

Grief is the jewelry in my mother's wooden boxes,

And it glows somewhat gray.

Not silver or gold the way it was meant to,

But rather the gray of hollowed light.

Grief is the jewelry in my mother's wooden boxes,

And each of her necklaces and earrings and pearls,

Are far too heavy for her frail bones,

And far too sorrowful for her delicate mind.

Grief is the jewelry my mother wears,

For she is a woman and she is bound by fate to cry for a lifetime,

Grief is the jewelry my mother wears,

When she looks the most beautiful.

By Abhijna Nagaraja