FREED VERSE

i remember the day
i cut off the waistbeads.
though they still sagged on my hips,
shone in the sunlight,
and swayed as i walked,
the glue holding them together was starting to scratch at my skin.

they were crafted so deftly
each one with an incorrigible place in line
inseparable from its partner and whole.
as such,
the hardest part was finding a place to sever the string:
i could hardly wriggle a blade between them.

the spot i found was hardly perfect.
but, still,
the scissors found their way between the tightly-packed beads
and the once-taught string grew limp.

little plastic pearls
exploded like confetti
and scattered:
a new rug for my hardwood floor.