he caresses the backs of his own outstretched fingers
she asks what are you doing he does not say he
does not know he simply stops
the collins’s are coming over next tuesday night
they need our help with the wedding plans
he starts to stroke his fingers again, and she says
what are you doing but this time he does not stop
she says are you alright and he says what do you
mean and she says your hand
and he stops
the collins’ say they want snapdragons i said
not a good idea, druscilla she says well i always
wanted snapdragons for my wedding i says that’s
your ancient wedding but
do you need some lotion?
he stops
she fills half his field of vision now and nearly all
of his imagination as she wipes her hands on her
apron and reaches down to hold
his hand tenderly.
i had to take the ring off, dear, because it was
cutting your face. i know we said we’d never take
them off, but this doesn’t count. you never took
it off and neither have i taken off mine, see?
you’re just wearing yours somewhere safer. it’s
safe and sound. and you can see it any time
you like. i’ll get it for you now.
somewhere between her smallness and goneness
and her bigness and colorfulness he begins to
remember something small, a rock, a smooth
yellow rock, inside a stubby little dirt-smattered
hand, his own hand.
his eyes now filled with a glistening diamond ring
that’s a girl’s ring he says, no she says and nearly
sighs and patiently begins again and says it is
a ring just like hers because they said their love was
like twins a crazy idea back in the day.
he wants a yellow rock like the one he had, not
a girl’s diamond ring, he says.
he feels the back of his hand again, now wet with
a droplet, now wet with another. he looks up to
see not the sky, not the God of Thunder, but a
girl, being a girl, just a girl.
