Lesser Jewels
Not diamond, ruby, or emerald.
We were the lesser stars of the firmament—
cloudy topaz, crazed quartz, chipped garnet.
We were the door-slamming, Up-yours!
The mouthy girl enigmas.
All long-legs, bared midriffs. Skirts hiked.
Not cheerleaders, nor scholars.
Not Future Homemakers of America.
We were the rough cuts—
the backseat business
in the fields behind the school.
The semi-precious
dancing in the headlights,
our bodies tripwire and baited spark.
Wild-haired, breasty.
The ones tonguing boys. The teasers.
Hoots and hollers the polish
of an immortality we could almost touch,
a possibility of luster.
We were the pretenders
shoving hurt into overstuffed lockers,
faux leather purses—faux smiles.
Revelers in a second-hand radiance—
everything we had, already used
by the richer, purer, more refined.
By the flawless jewels.
But we could strut hand-me-downs,
smile a Thank you! and a Fuck-off!
at the same time,
while shoplifting what we wanted—
even if it was base metal. Even if it tarnished.
We were lesser jewels. But in the right light—
my God! What brilliance.
by Shutta Crum, first published in Boulevard Magazine
Twitter: @Shutta
Facebook: www.facebook.com/ShuttaCrum
Editor’s Note: This poem’s clever allegory never veers into sentimentality, but by the last few lines, the reader is fully convinced of brilliance.
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