Graveyard of Rings – A Poem

We were goingbox

through the jewellery

box, the bits

and pieces that

I held on

to. It was

a wooden box

with six drawers

made from unvarnished

wood. Each drawer

held something different.

The bottom one

held watches, the

middle two bracelets

and necklaces. The

forth and fifth

drawer held trinkets.

She pointed at

the sixth drawer.

What’s in that one?

It’s my graveyard.

I said quietly.

You’re what?

I have the rings from every failed relationship in there.

Why would you hold on to those? Why would you keep them?

To remember.

What exactly is it that you’re remembering? How the relationships ended?

I looked down

at the rings,

at the symbols

they had been

that had meant

so much to

me. One had

been in the

graveyard so long

that even the

stone had turned

from purple to

black. I looked

at the rings,

at the bonds

that they had

symbolized. Five rings

that had seemed

to mean so

much at the

time, however, their

light had dimmed,

the graveyard dark.

Do you think I should throw them out?

Well, it is your pack and purge party before the big move.

I took the

rings in my

hand and walked

to one of

the garbage bins.

I held out

my hand. I

thought of what

to say, to

commemorate the occasion.

Thanks for nothing.

I said, and

prepared to drop

them in the

garbage. She stopped

me. She shook

her head and

said very firmly.

They weren’t the right men for you. But they were what you needed then.

She looked at

me solemnly and

spoke these words:

Thank you for giving him what he needed then, but now he doesn’t need you anymore. He’s letting you go.

She let go

of my hand

and I let

the rings slide

from my hand

and let go.

She closed the

bag and I

looked toward the


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