My
mom was not the type of woman to own makeup or jewelry, but she did
have a few items my dad had given her in a small jewelry box in her
bedroom. Whenever her and my dad would go out when I was a child I
would sneak into her bedroom and try on this one ring she had, just a
small gold band with a tiny amethyst and a chip of a diamond. She
passed away after battling breast cancer for 7 years when I was 13.
That day I went into her room and put on her amethyst
ring and I’ve worn it every day since (I’m 27 now). It’s pretty banged
up from catching it on doors and I’ve since chipped the stone, but it’s
still a piece of me and I wouldn’t give it up even if I was being
robbed. I wrote this poem about the ring back in college in a creative
writing class and would like to share it with your readers….
Small Lady
Tiptoe into her room
A magnificent box
towers over you.
Open the glass door.
Rubies, opals, diamonds
and one small amethyst.
Put it on
small lady
then dance
around the room
spinning, twirling.
Be like your mother
so grown up.
With a ring like that you can do anything.
Put it back
so no one knows
you’ve been there.
Wait till you’re older
they will all say.
Small lady
You’re older now
but are you old enough
to take care of a family
clean your house
cook your meals?
Well you have to be
small lady
because your mother,
she’s gone now.
The cancer
ate her alive.
Go ahead, scream
through piercing silence
that it is not true.
Shatter that glass on the floor.
It will not change the truth.
You are alone now.
Tiptoe into her room again.
Open the glass door
to the magnificent box
that no longer
towers over you.
Go ahead
take out the amethyst.
Put it on.
Can you still do anything
with a ring like that?
Small lady
you are no longer small.
Now you are grown up.
You have to be.