Flash in the Pan

A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights

And After Swine, Too

by T’mara Goodsell

When I married, I wore white pearls. And when I divorced, I purchased a strand of black ones.

It was the only time I've ever bought myself better jewelry. It was an impulse. They were the perfect divorce gift. Although not usually a jewelry person, I love them and all that they celebrate.

There is nothing proper or pristine about them. They are neither trite…nor polite. They don't stand at picket-fence-perfect attention or march virtuously across my skin. No Pearls of Innocence, these.

To me, they are smoky, exotic. They are sultry sunset-lustered and night-nacred. They are city lights in the rain. They are oil slicks on blacktop after a race. They are a Caribbean adventure. They are the sea just before sunrise. They are the anti-June Cleavers.

And they represent a promise to myself, my black pearls, that I will take me for better or for worse, that I will honor me all the days of my life. And that I will stay true to myself, always.

T'Mara Goodsell is a single mother, teacher, and freelance writer in Saint Charles, Missouri. Contact her at messageinabloggletheartofbeingbroken.blogspot.com/

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