Monday, 9 January 2017

A poem by Jeffrey Heath

Wedding Rings You’ve Lost Along the Way


I.

The first
                   (not your real mother's
but she took you to raise)
sleeps like ashes in a box,
etching smoothed to a sigh
over years of turning it 'round
holding the stone in her palm
through every Sunday service.

II.

Your husband's,
                    cut away in a sterile room
from a swollen, bloodless finger,
a day after you disclosed the affair.
Stray fist against the stone walls of
a home in a storm, slowly melted,
never realizing what was broken,
No way to save it, they said;
now he wears it as a groove,
bone raised around empty space.

III.

Then it was your own
stolen by a whisper of current,
surfacing from the Gulf waters.
You renewed your vows there:
a beach outside Pensacola,
salt in your hair & a sting on your lips.
Eighteen years, give or take a separation.
Hands naked,
                     broken,
                                  joined together
remarried to an ocean.








Jeffrey Heath formerly lived as a cat stalking the shores of South Florida. He currently lives in Memphis, TN where he works for a non-profit. His work has appeared online and in print in PSH, Eunoia Review, Synesthesia Literary Journal, The Syzygy Poetry Journal, and as a Goodreads monthly feature among others.

1 comment:

  1. Lovely poem, stark yet warmly reminiscent. And "sleeps like ashes" is my favorite simile of the week. Nice work.

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