One day, in the afternoon, two weeks after Christmas,
as I am busy preparing to go out, when I have
put on my favorite outfit and will go to a cafe
for a few hours, writing, I am faced with a decision:
to wear the diamond necklace, or the green pendant.
The diamonds have much to recommend them.
They play in series, tiny little sparkling slivers
down a thin, twisting platform of rosy gold
that merges with a strip of silver.
The necklace is only half an inch high,
delicate all along its length, and small.
I bought it as a Christmas gift for myself.
The green pendant is lovely in a different way.
It is not so delicate, not so elegant,
but more substantially smithed.
The green enamel, rich with a design
drawn from the Book of Kells
is set in silver in a pattern like a teardrop.
A gentle Irish tear!
Because my father gave it to me for a Christmas
that still lingers heavy in my mind, it is special
to me in a way that the diamonds will never be.
A long time I stand and stare at the two pendants,
recumbent atop my dresser, in front of my mirror,
next to the tubes and the compacts of makeup
I have just slathered onto my face.
Each necklace speaks to me in its own way.
The choice before me: will I be elegant, delicate, keen,
with the diamonds dripping from my neck,
or will I wear the green pendant my father gave me?
I stand long weighing the two options,
deciding on how I want to present to the world,
who exactly I am.
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