The Amber Pearl

She lay alone again,  thought she might cease to be, in the disarray of the unsupported mattress, the humid night, her newness to love.

But someone was there, even greater than herself,  a pearl, sleeping in a cold river, reflecting amber light back into her head.

She knew she’d lost, and back then believed it was everything. But one night, when summer began to dwindle, she realized she remained, above herself, as varnish sometimes does, even over worn out wood.

Next day she declared she’d be up soon, tomorrow in fact, back in that game, even if no one else followed her way. Didn’t doubt her wandering footsteps, the coming of mornings, autumn and winter.

The young woman thought that was all of it, when life pinned her down hard, just beside the heart, but she never left her.

Summer nights were turning amber. 

A graceful hand had held on gently, just below the river’s surface, stars looking down upon it. And when it opened, the amber pearl kept  steady, her space in the current so young and fleeting.

She knows, always, how not to get carried astray.