The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2010

The Ring

The ring was almost purchased,

one carat she insisted, nothing less,

because her sister had one that size,

affordable even with my meager cash,

summer savings from hauling mail

on twelve-hour shifts, six a week,

dealing with insults when I lost a postcard

or the diploma was too big for the box

and I folded it in half, constant weight

of undeliverable parcels. Thankless labor,

until I found my old high school teacher

living on the route, and I decided not to

bother him with certified mail, leaving little

yellow slips he had to sign at the post office.

On sidewalks, in apartment building lobbies

I’d learned the rules of manliness, proving

one’s worth by sacrifice, though I was still

afraid to ask the girl’s father for permission

(she was a teenager, he’d say no: then what?).

The next day a man shot the president in Dallas

and the deal was off for a week, seven days,

long enough for the price of diamonds to rise

imperceptibly and I could only afford a flawed gem

with the promise no one could tell without a lens.

When we showed it to the old man, he jumped off

his chair, growling, but the wedding was on.

Years later, seven of marriage, seven of divorce,

a burglar in London made off with the ring,

no doubt also surprised by what he couldn’t see.

Peter Neil Carroll