My fumbling fingers on the bracelet’s clasp
feel so useless as the sudden drop
sends beads a-skitter, here, there,
under the desk where they evade my grasp.
Some may coast their happy way
to oblivious senescence.
But I have other needs —
needs to reach and find and still to grasp.
This was written in response to Miz Quickly’s final prompt for the month of March.