I wear my children like a string of beads
as we walk through the mall.
People ask, “Are these all yours?”
People who were children once,
gray-suited men and women,
blue-jeaned, silk-shirted,
pearled and chained men and women
almost always smile.

I don’t know fashions any more,
but wear a baby on my hip,
bubbly blond girls ahead and
tall dark son behind.
People can see I am the uncut diamond
from which these jewels were formed.