Not Everything is Disaster

That spring, when I shared space
in a cramped AirBnB RV trailer
with one of my daughters,

I couldn't remember taking off
the intricate beaded necklace
I'd brought to wear

at a conference, though I remember
putting it on that last morning.
But when we went our separate

ways, she flying off to North
Carolina and me back to Virginia,
I couldn't find any trace of it

in my purse or in my luggage.
For a moment, but only just,
I thought about e-mailing

the owner to ask her
to help me look for it. But
if I couldn't remember if I

still had it on when we returned,
then couldn't it be anywhere?
I could sigh about how much

it had cost, how women in South
Africa threaded each bead to make
such striking geometric shapes.

But I thought of Bishop's door
keys, her mother's watch, her
rivers, homes, and continents;

a quake, a storm swirling its spiked
coronet over the Pacific. There's
disaster, then there is disaster.

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