The Ring of Truth

My finger feels the absence of my rings.
They had been there for so long,
so welcome
so integral to me
just like our love
that the lack of them is more

It is like a phantom limb for me, that place on my finger
where they were.
Two silver bands
wrought by two different hands
presented in
two different lands
by one true man.

As I changed, they moved more and more
roaming on the surface of my skin,
exploring their limits
and pushing their boundaries,
leaping from my finger
in a joyful, hard-won free flight
from time to time.

I still
sometimes have a momentary sense of panic
when I feel for them
and they are not there.
And then I remember.

They live now,
a comfortable, safe life
on a false hand that I bought
for no discernable purpose
long before I met you
just because I knew
that for some reason I had forgotten
I needed one.

They sit
stacked as always
on a graceful acetate finger
next to an alarm clock
and a rubber chicken
not fulfilling their destiny
but waiting
eternally patient.

I cannot always see them
but I always know
that they are there.

Submitted to the Thursday Poet’s Rally.