A Necklace of Acorns

Her mother did not leave her anything
but a necklace of humble acorns -
a string of thumbs in dull brown gloves.
She showed her how to make a soup
or distill a gin if she was starving.

The girl did not turn her face from cloth
of gold, easy pleasures or false gods.
She did not wear around her neck 
the string of acorns, like a copse of oak
in a spoiled land, or a bowl of oats
at a banquet, both curse and oath.

But when her charms faded and
the invitations ended she ran the necklace
through her fingers like a rosary
and remembered.
by Pauline Plummer