Kelley White

Your mother’s ring was too large to wear
every day.  Certainly not in this city.  The diamond
glinted big as a wristwatch. Flashed out
morse code like a lighthouse.  I hollowed
a hole in the pages of an old Physician’s
Desk Reference, stuck it on the shelf
by our bed.  I didn’t know you took it out
till your new girl flashed her signal in my face.