I was the one they chose. Gold
minuscule forget me nots laced with plain
dashes. Dainty, thin with a past.
Introduced by the jeweler when the wide
bands came to the knuckles on her short
fingers. Nestled in the estate section of antiques,
they didn’t care that I had belonged to someone else.
Slipped on her left ring finger with shaky hands 
during their vows, she wore me with pride.
For fifteen years I lasted, till my thin self 
could no longer be resized.
They kept me in my special box
as they searched for my replacement.


She never wanted diamonds but they
chose me cause mine were channel set
deep into grooves where she couldn’t 
knock me loose as she mothered their girls
and worked with patients.
I felt splashy on that third finger.
But alas, one of my diamonds 
came loose after fifteen years 
of constant wear and disappeared.
Put away in my sacred box
They sought another.


She found me on her own
at an upscale artist boutique 
My silver band fashioned
with chiseled squares and minute
rectangles. He approved. I adorn
her third finger to this day.
Little did I know, I would
be the ultimate ring 
carrying her on her own.