That gift
Sits below my wrist,

Left obvious
Despite her absence,

After breaking now
Before mending
What beads
Still remain intact –

Counting sins
Aligned like charms
Across these strings
We’ve woven
Where tested knots
Prove tightest
Pulling cords
With every curse

And heated words
Which tear
Those twisted lives
Left tangled
Below these fingers
Restless
For the hands that once
Clasped back,

Seeking reason
To sport this cuff

Or get back up
Lacking worry

As another day
Misses your presence
Reminded by palms
Showing wear.

Those symbols
Hiding our scars
Gain merit
Through daily usage

Facing waves
Of frequent erosion
Much how life
Endures such pain,

Placing ornaments
Over each wound
So injuries earned
Provide meaning
Through countless scuffs
Upon metal
Holding wooden spheres
Along threads.

Some bracelets
Last beyond death
Even if their bindings
Sever
While being used
During lifetimes
Where wars were waged
Winning trust –

Triumphant
Merely in length,

But adorning
Damages taken

Finding beauty
Shimmering brightly
For a time
Only real love shines.

• J. Pigno