while digging a hole in the garden
(planting marigolds).
it was plastic and purple
and still retained a shean.
i wondered where it came from.
likely, it was one of twenty odd others
that strung up a friendship bracelet
about 4 inches round.
the bracelet itself is long gone,
and its owner's wrist has long since outgrown
the bounds of its circle.
i held the bead in my dirty fingers.
once, on its curved face
my young daughter was reflected
probably as i dug other flowers
for her wondrous eyes.
now, she hardly has the time.
she walks past this planter box
and hardly notices
whether i've weeded it
or planted something new.
there was a moment
when i held her eyes
and held her hand,
now long ago.
the bead gives me pause.
but, like her, i move on.
i carefully deposit it
beneath the ball of roots
of this new marigold,
a secret happiness that
it, too, will not absorb
and will simply grow around
as it reaches flowers to the sun.
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