By Jenna Sveum
I do not wear my own friendship bracelets.
I do not parade my work against my blonded wrist.
It is as a shadow that I reveal my craftsmanship;
only existing in a second-hand account sort of way.
I give myself away in these bracelets.
I do it again – if only for a brief glimpse of gratitude.
My most recent gift was to a bright, lonely girl;
her face lifted by the delight of unanticipated glee.
The bracelet was intended for her; the reaction, for me.
I make mistakes in the string, who doesn’t?
I imagine that her gaze washes over it
like a forgiving laundry soap that forgoes the stains.
or, (and perhaps this is more stirring,)
I imagine that my accidental knots
add character to these little trinkets I devise
so I try to ignore the placement of her eyes.
These mistakes reveal me; I revel in these mistakes
an accidental mash of colors that somehow create
something beautiful, or, if that proves unattainable,
something appreciated, something worn.