(gold) | Kathryn Paul

By the time they snipped it from my finger
(not the same jeweler
a different one)
it wasn’t even dramatic.

All the drama had seeped out long before,
only to flare again in occasional battles
over laundry or late for dinner, evenings
punctuated by canned laughter
and commercials.

Something in me expected blood.
Instead, the merest click:
a tool created for this single
purpose, the jeweler stone faced
while engaged couples bent their heads over
black velvet and glitter.

————
Kathryn Paul writes poems on the bus, on the backs of envelopes, and at the kitchen table in her tiny apartment in Seattle. When she reads aloud she is grateful for bright lights and adjustable microphone stands. Her poems have been included in Words Dance, Snapdragon, and 4Culture’s Poetry on Buses: Writing Home collection.

Advertisements

Respond to this piece.

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s