The diamond that perched on my mother’s engagement ring is now nestled in my own.
It watched as my mother agreed, 14 years and 3 proposals later, to marry my father.
It heard my deadbeat grandfather fly his Cessna over the wedding ceremony, and
it cooled under my mother’s steely reserve on what should have been a happy day.
It left her finger twice, spent two 9-month periods in a jewelry box and, when home again,
it grazed the cheeks of two new babes with their father’s eyes.
It warmed in Florida’s heat, traversed goods in a Portuguese market. At dinner parties,
it clinked the glasses of Portuguese officials and Russian diplomats, shone like good crystal.
It tapped cardboard boxes, never fully unpacked, some never to be seen West of the Atlantic.
It gleamed in soft early morning sunlight by the school bus stop.
It caught on dog collars, year after year.
It took an Elmer’s glue bath when school projects were due.
It stroked the pelts of two dogs as they lay dying.
It soaked up the tears of two young girls who had encountered Death for the first time.
It watched my mother’s joys and sorrows for a quarter of a century.
It whispered, quiet, constant, This is the life you have been given, the love you choose to give.
It winks at me.
It will tell my story, too.