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Past Tense Jewelry

My engagement ring dozes
in a square blue satin box
worn a year then removed.

Tonight it’s open, ring gliding
across my fingers like her
missing hand.

I twist the jewel expecting emotions
but like high school yearbooks
it exists only for others to gawk at.

It weighs on my knuckles
a Stonehenge boulder
powerfully perplexing.

Throwing my ring into the street
I run it over with my car,
pick up a scuffed memento.

I tuck it under my pillow a lost tooth,
hope a supernatural fairy
will carry it away.

Next holding it over candle flame
I watch carbon fight with alumina
in front of fractured carbon.

I carry it around the house
loose on my finger
like my ideals of marriage.

I rest the ring inside my closet
next to childhood magic toys,
both existing as forgotten party tricks.

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