Two Lives, Two Rings

 

 

I lost my ruby ring on my wedding day

 

For years, I wore it on chain

 

Where it rested just above my breasts

 

Warmed y my skin, and warming my soul.

 

 

*

 

 

It was my grandmother’s ring, a treasure

 

From the days before rubies were grown

 

The deep wine red with tones of pink

 

That I had worn on my small finger

 

When I was nine

 

And attended her funeral.

 

 

*

 

 

The day I was married, I wanted to

 

Wear a necklace that matched my dress

 

And so removed my grandma’s ring, and

 

I never saw it again.

*

 

 

The stone was set in a delicate filigree of gold,

 

A intriguing braiding of supple metal

 

That reminds me of the nurse

 

Who stood behind me as I cried on the bed

 

And whisperingly braided my hair

 

As I held my dying fiance in my arms.

 

 

*

 

 

I was twenty-five then, and the thought

 

Of my life without him was a jagged precipice

 

Like the fifth floor window I had so briefly

 

Considered trying to leap out of

 

Before the death-message doctor could stop me.

 

 

*

 

 

And then, when I ran out of things to say in

 

Tear drowned and crumbling words

 

And you simply relaxed soundlessly into

 

The undiscovered country where I

 

Could not follow you.

 

 

*

 

 

Because I had promised him that I would live

 

And accept love if it were offered freely

 

I went on and accepted the love of

 

A dear friend, and the gift of our

 

Children…

 

 

*

 

 

One little boy, and then a second-

 

Born not breathing, terror replacing joy

 

Twelve days of unreal, breathhold living

 

Traveling the long road to the hospital NICU

 

Each and every day –

 

Until he died.

 

 

*

 

 

A year later, less five days

 

Our daughter’s cries wrung out

 

My tears of relief and joy

 

Although I would not trust that

 

She was here to stay

 

Until after she turned one.

 

 

*

 

 

Another ring lost, some years back

 

A simple sterling claddagh

 

with a purple glass gem

 

Meant, perhaps to be amethyst.

 

It was bought for pocket cash

 

At a farmer’s market on

 

The Erie Canal, on a whim.

 

 

*

 

It slipped off my finger while

 

I was tending our home, and,

 

Although I looked and looked

 

everywhere I thought it might be

 

It was simply gone, and I

 

Eventually accepted the fact.

 

 

*

 

 

The, two weeks ago,

 

My daughter came to me

 

In her sparkling, laughing way.
“Guess which hand, Mommy?”

 

And she knew I would guess left

 

Because I always do.

 

 

*

 

 

There on her palm, as though conjured

 

Lay the simple claddagh ring

 

Symbol of love, loyalty, and friendship

 

A gift now from my daughter to me

 

Just as she is a gift given from sorrow.

 

 

*

 

 

The ring had fallen into a corner

 

Back in her closet, and lay

 

A hidden treasure, unnoticed

 

For the years until she chose

 

To make a sleeping nest in there.

*

 

Life is the story of loves and losses

 

Some enormous, some trivial

 

All bringing feelings and memory

 

Touchstones for our humanity.

 

 

*

 

 

Some loves are seemingly

 

Torn from our lives without reason

 

Or regard for our grief and the raggedly

 

Ripped wound left behind.

*

 

 

And sometimes, another life and love

 

Our another symbol to cherish and cleave to

 

Are given to us, if we will be open

 

And not insist on seeing only

 

What we think ought to be.

 

 

 

 It’s a BLOG HOP!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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