When I was young
I had a beauitiful
white seashell necklace
speckled in brown
and delicate as china.
My mother carefully
collected those precious shells
from exotic islands
and painstakingly culled
the best and strung like shapes
and like colors together.
Too bad kids hold store-bought goods
in such high esteem, while gifts made
from the heart place a paltry second.
Today I would give a wisdom tooth
to caress and wear that seashell necklace,
but it was stolen from my jewelry box
by a nocturnal intruder.