Necklace

Go and buy me a necklace to clasp ten years.

I don't want diamonds or gold.
A junkie snatched my wedding band
for an hour's grace.

Bypass the pearls
for the high school proms
I fingered my mother's cold like hail
pellets against my aching collarbone.

Don't pick out turquoise.
We quarreled in Santa Fe.
I walked the Plaza
and bought myself
blue
for resolute

like the Hopi Old One.
Find me moonstone
milk-white.
I need nourishment
and smooth
for all the hollow places
and silver links
to solder our lives again.