Lost
Unaccustomed journey to the Laundromat
Smell of soap and bleach in the soft, close air.
Waiting for the spin cycle, I spy it
Some disregarded treasure.
Shiny gold band set with peridots
Some heirloom separated from its intended heir
Lonely and shimmering, it beckons inspection.
So sad to be fingerless and unfound.
Even if it fit me, which it doesn’t
I could never take it home with me
Forever would it haunt my other trinkets
With echoes of where it ought to be.
I set it on the folding table when I left
Hoping fervently that whomever lost it
Would trace it back here and rejoice
Place it in the smooth finger’s groove.
© Stacie Ferrante
3-4-09
No comments:
Post a Comment