Vows of White and Gold

Poetry

the ring should seal it with a promise of things to come

but I knew better than to believe in such falsehoods.

my parents never wore their rings, not one single day,

yet I never once found this odd until I was older.

“divorce” wasn’t a word thrown around easily, but

I saw the truth of it in the way their eyes simmered.

my parents’ brand of love was ever a battlefield,

and I never knew anything different from their scenes.

every single moment seemed snatched from a play

where the fury seemed to ignite for an invisible audience.

but no one watched, no one cared, no one said a word

except me, me, me-always the observer to the strain.

when I found my dad’s wedding ring tucked away,

the gold shimmered as my fingers twisted at better angles.

it was like magic, that ring, because I knew what it meant:

once, my parents had loved each other enough to exchange rings.

but even after my mother died, I never found her matching ring,