Stringing Along

11 Aug

I’m hanging up the necklace when it suddenly shatters.

Beads crash, bounce, scurry

to hide in the corners of the closet.

I could gather them. Restring, re-clamp, restore.

A wall of necklaces, my drawers of clasps and crimpers and spare beads —

they all testify to my ability to create, mend, try again.

But this day, the cold tile scraping my knees,

I am more inclined to sweep the scattered beads

into the dustbin,  toss them with the trash.

Restringing is painstaking work, the necklace never quite the same.

A bead missing here, a clasp wire scratching there.

Reminders

of when it all fell apart.

Not worth it, I decide, for pony beads and cheap glass with the lustre worn off.

The other choices, to repair or release? Not so easily settled.

Taking more than an afternoon, bruising more than my knees.

I weigh these beads in my hands, wonder if they’d ever look the same put back together.

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5 Responses to “Stringing Along”

  1. ingrid August 11, 2009 at 8:28 am #

    You’re amazing. I wish I had your ability to put to words what I’m thinking and feeling with some semblance of sense. Again not only does your words make sense they move you.
    ~ingrid

  2. Elle August 11, 2009 at 4:29 pm #

    Hugs, my amazing friend.

  3. MrsMessiness August 12, 2009 at 7:46 am #

    Somehow, this cuts to the very core of me.

    Thank you.

  4. canarygirl August 13, 2009 at 1:41 am #

    I love you, my dear friend. (hugs)

  5. RJ Flamingo August 13, 2009 at 9:25 pm #

    What honest insight. I hope you decide to put them back together, anyway. Maybe differently, this time. Maybe adding something. A connection between the old and the new.

    Adding my {{hugs}} here.

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