To have a thing or
to give it up for money. To
sell it for less than its worth
then use the money for something
you think you need but then you
miss it. The thing, that is.
It was a high school ring. Asserting
success, artificial amber
colored stone set deeply
within deceptive metal trying
to be important with its date
and place, a chorus of completion.
What did I need the money for anyway?
A trip to the mall where my succulent lips
could peruse waxy colors? Where my friends
and I could giggle and saunter in trendy shoes
and claim all tomorrows as our very own?
Was that why I sold my graduation ring
to that man who looked like Stephen King, black oily
hair drifting over one side of his thick glasses?
I don’t remember why. I only remember his
ad in the paper,
CASH PAID for memories and
unimportant reminders, the one my parents said
they could not afford but I whined
like a stranded seal pup until I won.
What a waste. What a shame. How is my daughter
ever going to find her mother’s adolescent badge,
an antique now probably melted down.
Once there. Once a thing to have.