of the way necklaces used to get
tangled
in my grandmother’s jewelry box,
and how, even still, when I am sad
I go through them piece by piece:
sifting through her memories,
untangling the mess,
remembering the stories about
each, and what they meant to her.
I do not have many necklaces, but
I have a lot of words, and they are always tangled around you.
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