I declare they’re just like money. How so ever can they be anything else? Cause you ain’t got a lick ‘o nothing when you’re born and when you finally do begin to be rewarded for the work to earn ’em, people aren’t so impressed with your spending choices, at least not in the beginning. 

Some of my friends said I could probably build something real big after all the years I’d worked and saved. Even though my stockpile is hard to carry I never did agree and preferred to spend what was only necessary.

I figured it was sorta like my grandmamma and her collection of ocean pearl earrings.  You could learn a lot about the oceans, the pearls and ma grandmamma if you took the time. She never wore those things but maybe twice a year, Christmas and her birthday.

Only the Lord knows what happened to her and those pearls after she died.  I do know that one pair was laid to rest with her in the casket on that rainbow painted afternoon. All I could think about the days leading up to her burial were seashells and their secrets, cause if you held ’em just right, they’d tell you everything.

Since she lived and died alone it got me to thinking that maybe the reason she didn’t share those pearls was cause she hadn’t been held just right.

I sorta went off the rails but going back to what I was saying, they are just like money, our words I mean.  I don’t think wearing pearls twice a year makes the pearl or the wearer any more special than if they wear ’em every day, but she had a mindset about living and a budget on decorating herself for others.

It got me to thinking whether I’d been carelessly spending my words after toiling all these years to earn ’em and it ain’t even clear whether I was decorating myself, whether I was decorating others or whether there was even a difference.

All I knew was that like my grandmamma I hadn’t been held just right and hadn’t told all my secrets.  It got me to questioning which words would be buried with the seashells and which would be buried with me.

I never did answer myself but did find some comfort in the Revelations and gates made of pearls in streets of gold that shone like glass.

Even if I never spent all the words I’d earned I knew I’d once held someone’s heart so encased in gold that one day I’d be buried with pearls just like my grandmamma and he’d be buried with at least one seashell of mine.