Consigning Mother’s Ring

It shouldn’t have been willed to me.
I’m not an emerald and baguette diamond girl.
I’m set in steel, not platinum.

Technically, it’s called a dinner ring,
but we all knew it as a form
of circular apology
for cocktail hour abuse.
Advance payment, if you will,
for dessert wines
served up with purple bruises.

For twenty-three long years,
I kept it tucked away
in an emotionally
distant drawer.

But Sally’s house needs a new roof,
and something good should finally come
of all that ostentatious glinting.

Before leaving the consignment store,
I kissed those gems that once adorned
a hand now far beyond
her daughter’s loving grasp.


From Dual Exposure, A Collection of Poems by Barbara Saxton published by Blue Light Press.


About the Poet:

Barbara Saxton has worked as a translator, financial consultant, and educator. She is now a retired English teacher, singer, dancer, relentless outdoor enthusiast, and published poet (Dual Exposure – 2015 – and various literary journals/anthologies).

She lives in Mountain View, California, with her husband Owen and a cat named Kolo. Their two adult sons reside in San Jose and San Francisco.



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