Dragonfly

Mislaid

I lost a good friend once

the selfsame way I lost my wedding ring.

Those final months I teased it

on and off my finger;

such an irritation on the skin

but an anxiety when out of sight.

Knowing within a day or two

when it had disappeared,

but not quite how.

The frantic curve of search

that fades at last to shrug.

But ‘lost’is not the same as ‘gone’

or so I like to tell myself

on certain days when it seems I and not the ring

have been mislaid in public places

on some undistinguished sink or ledge

to be retrieved by strangers.

I like to think it spiraled slowly down the drain

to come to rest in some small quiet pool

beneath a house where I no longer live

and if I dig

I still might find her there:

beloved of earthworms,

covered with mud and salt.

(Honorable Mention, Ina Coolbrith Annual Poetry Contest 2011, Category: Love)