The world conspires to make things disappear
That way, and in the confusion of death
It could have and should have just slipped away
But there's a record of disappearance
Of that supposedly forever thing,
A detailed appraisal for replacement
Of a missing diamond engagement ring.
That was from the first time, when it finally seemed
The hated object could not be wished away
By what conjuration a pre-teen witch
Could achieve to make the shine not stay
And with it, me, but no amount of screams
Could remove the new monster from the house
And bring back the doll to stick pins into,
The thing to torture, what she called mother.
The mystery is unsolved to this day.
It was on the counter, then was nowhere.
Everyone had alibis, that first time.
She didn't have to wear it to keep me there.
But I did show the kids that voodoo book,
How zombies were distilled from the living
And in the face of such facts and photos
Anything could happen, and indeed it did,
The ring went missing, but like a magic trick
An identical one came back, new crown
While the peasant resentment still festered
Fresh, the armored knight not run out of town.
The years went on. The one who couldn't be told
Took everything she could, lacking such love
That required her to give instead of take.
And then he mom, as if to blame her, died,
Slowly and painfully, just long enough
For her to abscond with everything
She needed to evolve to a hoarder,
Including, as this paper indicates, that ring.
Her mother had catalogued everything,
All of it went to her, the ungrateful one
As some kind of last, loving punishment,
But in the documents, no record
Of the ring. It was surely exchanged
In the long, slow wait to get away
But I can only speculate was it
Secretly passed from mother to daughter
So the mark of the man she always despised
Could be placed on her hand by another?
More likely it was sold for pocket change
Of it fell to her wishing-well bottom.
Until I saw the gem appraiser's proof
It had disappeared for me too, like pez
And Orange Nehi, things that I once loved
Turn into love that's all memory.
Everyone is free, of each other now.
It's hard to believe we ever were not.
There aren't any words, nor ever will be,
Just numbers from a bankrupt jewelry store.
