Her pretty little finger - by Michael Estabrook

Her pretty little finger

Shocked to see her diamond ring, her engagement ring,
lying quiet and all alone on the counter.
I realize she took it off because she
was working in the garden,
didn’t want to get it dirty.
But to have it simply sitting there, stark, alone,
for anyone to see or touch or take, startled me.

And she’s been in now from the garden for hours.
Hasn’t she missed it?
Maybe it’s a Freudian slip of some kind,
that she doesn’t want the ring any longer,
doesn’t want to be my wife any longer.
It happens you know. People find
other lovers and friends and leave their spouses
all the time. Why hasn’t she missed it?

Is this a signal to me, I wonder? I’ll come upstairs
brandishing her diamond ring
on the end of my pinky. I’ll say,
“Missing something?” and hold it out for her to take.
And she’ll simply look at me with that
blank look of hers, shrug and say, “No, that’s ok dear,
you can have it back. I’ve held onto it
far too long as it is. It’s yours again.”

And off she’ll go to her new life with her new lover,
leaving me behind with all my clutter,
all alone and quietly clutching
onto this stupid diamond ring, useless now
and meaningless because it is no longer on
her pretty little finger.