How I Became The Sea

My Golden Bracelets

There sits two bracelets on my right wrist;

they smile at me every now and again when I drive.

They tingle

and jingle

when I hold my pen, 

when I write away my feelings.

They simply remind me that they exist.

I wear them because they define me.

I wear them because they reflect me.

I wear them

because

when I sit on the floor of my bathtub,

I scrub away my arms: my skin,

my delicate flesh.

I find the difficulty to cleanse myself

 from the dirt;

the extra layer that sits under my bracelets.

But I still wear them.

I wear them,

but I would like to remove these golden ornaments

that mean a little more than

nothing

to me 

anymore.