My wedding-ring lies in a basket 
as if at the bottom of a well. 
Nothing will come to fish it back up 
and onto my finger again. 
                    It lies 
among keys to abandoned houses, 
nails waiting to be needed and hammered 
into some wall, 
telephone numbers with no names attached, 
idle paperclips. 
          It can't be given away 
for fear of bringing ill-luck. 
          It can't be sold 
for the marriage was good in its own 
time, though that time is gone. 
          Could some artificer 
beat into it bright stones, transform it 
into a dazzling circlet no one could take 
for solemn betrothal or to make promises 
living will not let them keep? Change it 
into a simple gift I could give in friendship? 

Poet: Denise Levertov
Poem: Wedding-Ring
Poem of the Day: Jun 8 2013

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