Waiting,
honoring each day,
she strung a beaded bracelet,
seed beads,
every imagined color.
Strand by strand,
they traveled,
past wrist,
forearm and elbow.
Finally,
teasing very close,
bucking up against stubborn flesh,
shoulder and armpit,
the impasse.
A great number of beads remained,
catgut enough to string them along.
Brow furrowed,
she contemplated,
the many gems and cord yet left.
Hands around her neck,
thumbs meeting front,
fingers greeting back,
she completed the circle
in measure for a necklace,
not of seed beads.