I hunt frantically through the dusty box,
a mausoleum for once shiny things.
I find it in a tangle of broken glamour;
tarnished, tawdry.
In my open hand, the ring;
a whispered ghost of gold and smoky quartz.
Throw it away
he says.
I shake my head.
It was a present from my mother.
I feel the salt scrape my throat
as I remember what it cost.
A winter wearing open-toed shoes.
Worry over rent and arthritic bones.
Choking back pride;
selling her wedding ring
to bring me this emblem
of unconditional love.
I hold it to my lips.
It is priceless.