(for Annie and Nikki)

I am drowning in Mom bling,
the woman who went, always,
for the shiny, the glitzy,
who, upon her departure,
left behind more necklaces
than she could ever wear.

And I, having met and fallen for
a little girl immigrating from China
with her new American mama
nine years ago, remember
that little girl arriving in her
wheelchair wearing over-the-top,
pink, sparkly, low-heeled
dress-up shoes,

which was OK in a way since
she could not walk, so the shoes
were really foot bling, and, even
with a language barrier, we could
tell pleased her enormously.

Now that girl is 16 with a driver’s
license to wheel around her power chair,
and she still loves her some bling.
She may not remember that she has
a link to my mama, who, years ago,
in one of her best moments, came
to the hospital to sit with the little girl
during a long recovery.

So I shine up some of the tarnished
bling and offer it to the now big girl
and her mama, who look through it
and choose pieces with glee—

some of it tasteful, some not,
but it doesn’t matter. This is for
dress-up, for fun, to hold up
and watch a big girl who is
learning to wheel herself
through life light up when

a fancy bit of bling is draped
around her neck, her brilliant
smile outshining the bright
metal and eye-catching stones.

And, watching them, I feel the presence
of the woman who once wore it
grinning her approval, applauding
their choices from her place
in the great upper balcony
of the firmament.