My Worth in Pearls

Two separate views of what it felt like to be diagnosed with a life-changing syndrome.

Hushaby

The wise woman hovers over, peering

Into the woman-shaped body that I call my own.

She sees my fortune surface, a shadow that looks like

A “ring of pearls,” they tell me.

And I, some rampantly confused oyster

With a diver to clean me out,

Become only the stolen promise

Of the wealth of life that I possess.

These promises are now nothing more

Than my worth in pearls.

 

Shut Up

The doctor stands over, with busy glances.

A polysyllabic name of some enigmatic syndrome,

Its whimsical symptom flashes on the ultrasound, and it looks like

A ring of pearls. They tell me

That they can only offer the cure to my confusion.

As if having the mystery cleared out

Would soften the stabbing loss

Of the ideas of motherhood that I no longer possess.

These ideas are now nothing more

Than my worth in pearls.