My Grandmother’s Ring
I took your ring to a gemologist today,
Shiny with spilt crystal rainbows,
Weathered by life’s hardships.
He took one look at it
And then at me,
Incredulous, he said ‘this is of no value’.
And though it held no value for him,
I told him that it was precious to me.
It was ‘just’ a glass ring underlaid with coloured foil,
A mesmerising prism that I touched with my childhood fingers.
You were a big precious stone,
With no precious stone to call your own.
Sand and alloy forged together and worn on
a hand that bathed me,
Hand that fed me,
Hand that held me,
Hand that nurtured me.
Your presence is in this beautiful,
simple ring.
An eternal symbol of your piety,
simplicity, courage and love.
And now it circles my finger,
As a reminder of what life is really about.
It is my connection with you,
Across space and time.
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