Forgetting as freshwater pearl necklace
by nat raum
somewhere, these cultured chalkwhite orbs were strung
together and clasped on a cushion of midnight
blue velvet for Grandpa Andy to buy. the museum
was in the District and prismic pinpricks shot through the gift
shop as we perused strings of pearls, cementing
memories in the swipe of a credit card. he taught
me the sort of sentimental that stored recollections
in the things we slip through curious fingertips, agents
for memory or relics of an adventure in amberlight, in scale
models of the monuments and sculptures we saw scattered
along the glossy white bookshelves. and years later,
also in the District, he’d fall on his head, days like
the museum long gone on impact, but i’d still see light
rainbows clearly each time i lay pearls here to my collarbone.
nat raum (b. 1996) is a disabled artist, writer, and genderless disaster from Baltimore, MD. They’re a current MFA candidate and also the editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press. Past publishers of their work include Delicate Friend, Corporeal Lit, and trampset. Find them online: natraum.com/links