When you gave me these bangles,
(artisan made, grown-up gift for the babysitter)
you oozed confidence, security, achievement.
In your warm brown house with its plush carpet, modern art,
and dishes spun on a pottery wheel,
you were cozy cool, the perfect mom in the perfect family:
professional husband, professional mom, two cute kids.
You had it all together.
But everything dissolved,
first family to divorce,
then your mind to madness,
finally your body to cancer.
Now you are dust, and the memory of you chimes
on my wrist in tarnished bronze and copper bangles,
and jingles, “Celebrate now, for who know what the future brings?”