The large green stone,
square-cut, was mounted
on simple gold: a plain setting.
I crept in often to gaze –
sitting at her dressing table,
tugging open the heavy drawer.
My mother must have known
it was my dream of beauty,
never told me it was only glass.
never told me it was only glass.
Written for Micro Poetry ~ Dark Emeralds at 'imaginary garden with real toads'.
But does it matter... how nice that it's only glass... no need to vault it.
ReplyDeleteLovely, Rosemary!
ReplyDeleteAll the freight of value that adulthood invests in those gems don't matter to children, who value beholding more than anything. So nicely done.
ReplyDeleteLOVE!❤️ I like how you paint the image of a younger you gazing at dark emerald❤️
ReplyDeletethe magic lies in the dreams and imaginings, and if lucky, when the truth is revealed, the mystery still dances in the soul :)
ReplyDeletewell done and phrased :)
Wonderful. Respecting a young girl's dream.
ReplyDeleteThe first two stanzas and the beginning of the third are so full of wonder, just to be ripped from under our feet by the last few lines. This is so good at making us feel what the speaker feels...
ReplyDeletebelief matters more than anything, I suspect ~
ReplyDeleteI think the beauty mattered most. The word 'emerald' still brings back that ring to my mental vision.
DeleteI especially like the image of you as the fern expanding in the light. I found myself feeling sad that I don't connect or get comfortable with other people like this.
ReplyDeleteColleen, you clearly mean this comment for a different poem, 'Visiting Letitia'. I don't know how the wires got crossed, but I appreciate your response anyway.
DeleteAh... But beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
ReplyDelete