Pulsera

I love my bracelet. I love the spiraled wire and sturdy old typewriter keys, linked together during one of my aunt's more creative moments as a self-proclaimed jewelry artist. From each key dangles a bead and a charm. They are rather charming charms. They are miniature books, the pages encased in weathered silver. “A True Story”, one is labeled. Another, “My Story”. The last charm is an open book.
Each bead is different. Some are pink, some are green, some are the most opaque kind of purple that when seen over my skin look milky brown.
Two cup-of-tea charms plus a pair of spectacles complete this pulsera. All together, the beads and charms, linked by antique type writer keys spell B-O-O-K-I-S-H-!, which just about sums it up. My bracelet is one of a kind, it is sturdy, yet on occasion, a few charms will fall off, only to be quickly retrieved and mended. My bracelet is words, and books, and images. It is a little rusty in spots where it was left too long on a bathroom counter, but somehow the rust only enhances it—- my bracelet has lived a little and so, I think, have I.

(written 9/7/08)