A poem from my great-grandmother Alice B. Johnson…
The Silver Ring
Within my palm a ring of silver weighed
The many years that marched in swift parade,
As treasured memories it stirred today–
Small silver ring with trinkets laid away.
Once long ago, my daughter, you possessed
The silver ring within my palm now pressed–
I see again your wonder at each move
Of finger where it made a gleaming groove.
How strange to think, the long years through,
It waited this day to return to you–
A silver ring and memories that linger–
I wonder– will it fit YOUR daughter’s finger?
…It fits my finger. I have only this to say:
how to explain?
the words could have been mine, but they’re not.
they cover my mind
with disbelief and astonishment
that curls the corners of my
Cheshire grin.
how can this be? I read on
and on and it is all so familiar.
a déjà vu of structure
and metaphor.
it sits heavy in my gut, a premonition
of thoughts—
this will not be the end of us.
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