My father came to visit one afternoon

he triumphantly presented

a small blue box with an appraisal

my grandmothers wedding ring

he said this is yours now

 

I don’t have a lot of experience with diamonds

I don’t wear bling

my wedding ring is a modest silver band

with a little message on the inside only I can see

I don’t have a lot of experience with diamonds

I don’t have a lot of experience with my grandmother

 

The diamonds on her ring

are not the pristine princess cuts of my prime

no, they’re an organized little cluster

that looks quickly encased

in a time more ragged and primitive

rough diamonds

I think I’m a rough diamond

 

I imagine what my grandmothers ring

her diamonds

would feel like in my mouth

crystalline points cold against my tongue

little rocks scratching the thin layer of my inside cheeks

I hear the stones click against my teeth

 

Maybe if I swallow the gems

feel them travel down my trachea to land

cushioned in my gut

I will understand the allure

the diamonds could shine from my insides

and then I could shine

we could shine, she and I

 

I think my grandmother was a rough diamond too

undeveloped and battered

sometimes a diamond looks more like coal

 

I want to turn back our time

I want us to be diamonds

our ruffled tangled outside transformed

transparent and free from flaws

now precious stones, she and I