Lost and Found
Like the strand of pearls mama tossed
across the room that night, little white
zeros spilling like years on the drain board
down the sink, into the Rushleigh Road living
room, bouncing to the frayed love seat
under the baby-grand she didn’t play anymore
through the hall to the bedroom armoire
that consoled the silks she’d stopped wearing.
The house rained pearls that night she slumped
on the bathroom floor, her five-year-old
counting the octagon tiles, trying London
Derry Aire in several keys to lull or wake
her. Next day we tried to collect them
in the live music box, some were
deliberately hiding, she said.
At my wedding and other choice times
pearls in each ear, at my throat
a single strand.
Mama, see, I found them.
