I wear my Granny’s diamond ring each day –
My hand feels heavier if it’s not there,
My finger naked when it’s put away
For working pastry, filling dough with air.
My Granny was a refugee in her own land,
Neglected immigrant into her childhood home
And all my memories are of her hands,
Strong hands, hard worked, big boned.
What better token could I find for her?
Dull, crushing poverty just made her strong,
And lit a fire within her, and conferred
The power to take life on, and love headlong.
I wear two rings, two diamonds, two love songs,
And one is hers, and that’s the sweeter one.
I am so happy to be guest hosting at the bar at dVerse tonight. I don’t often write sonnets – they are my poetic nemesis, but the occasion seemed to demand one. The theme is love tokens, and I’m really looking forward to reading some great poems.