A Ring

A brass ring hooked and
slipped into her purse,
with the credit cards
and the plastic case
with the oblong pills.
A journey to the center
of her pendulating heart.

French Antilles blue framed
by fuming hurricanes
does not un-map the strain.
Unforgiven adolescence
is a cultivated state,
and brass rings don’t shine
in the bottom of a bag.

 

Nov. 2012

 

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