Heavy on her hand
It had never felt right
She was always fretting with it
Twisting it with her thumb
At idle moments
Turning it round and round with her right
When anxious or lost.
Sometimes she could not stand it at all
It made her left hand heavy
She would take it off and put it in her pocket
Forget it was there till she reached for change
Or heard it pinging against the drum
In the dryer.
Rushing to meet him
She slipped it on
As she walked beside the brick road
In old Atlanta
Late as usual she fretted
Turning his grandmother' ring about her finger.
Then it was gone
She heard it bounce
Saw a flash of light off the gold
As it rolled onto the bricks
Amid the pebbles and grit and ash
In the cracks.
Why did she feel oddly relieved
Her hand, and head and heart so light?
She stopped seeking the hidden ring
Stood and walked the other way
She would call later
From Tampa or Phoenix
Or any of the cracks on the map.
With her free left hand she waved a taxi down.
J. Binford-Bell February 2011