Malachite

You gave me no reason when you left...no warning.
Not enough time to know you.
Just the material memories from my sporadic visits.
The ornaments hanging from your trees,
Your classical and jazz c.d.s stacked high on your thin walls.
All this time I had some naive notion that you were a spiritual mystery,
A guru I never knew.
All that malachite given on pendents and charms,
Overflowing in your arms.
Displayed dramatically on your hope chest,
Must have been awaiting strength, or faith, or love at least.
I was so sure that it must be something so gravely deep.
But it was all a surface and substantial fancy,
for malachite attracts money.
And now I'm sure it worked,
Because all I have left of you is still flat and green,
No amethyst or garnet.
No quartz or crystal.
Just a hard, shiny, flat piece of furtive rock.