Pierced Ears

My Dad’s rule: pierced ears when twelve,
Some form of bat mitzvah, coming of age.

I spent the five years prior
Skirting the spirit of the law:
Taped paper clip chains,
Taped pop bead patterns.
Did such creations improve my looks?
I thought so.

After a time, some took pity
And gave me clip-ons.

I remember one got lost once,
When I was with friends
Near the Botanic Gardens’ Japanese bridge.

My mother, shopping sometime later,
Came across a junk basket, with random items
Each a quarter. Inexplicably, she looked through it

And found a matching clip-on earring,
A little kiss from a God who cares
For a little girl’s vanity.