Diamond in a Vitamin Jar

You hid a diamond in a jar of old
vitamin E, a glimmering secret that
you showed me only once a year.
You said it was valuable, payment
from a client who was suspiciously
low on cash and lacking in character.
As the years passed, it took on the
amber hue of the vitamin jar, the
distinct scent of fish oil slick across
edges that cut grooves into the moon
and sparkled against the tips of fingers.
It was supposed to be a legacy, passed
to me on the bitter tongue of death, but
I sold it to pay my rent and buy wine.
The diamond was polished and
displayed under glass, in a case with
stuff from other dead mothers.
I hope it still smells like the vitamin jar,
and that you forgive me for letting it go.