broken bands of bereavement

three and a half small dents in my mothers

old ring

green aventurine held in tight by

tiny pesky clasps

clasps that will clasp onto anything that even looks at them

extracting strands of my blonde and brown curls

like a fishing hook out of a fish’s mouth

bent in from the times I enthusiastically

slammed my palms onto surfaces

or fell forwards or backwards or sideways

roller skating

the rings took the damage of my falls

a few rings took too much damage and snapped

under the pressure of the bumpy ground

I could not part with my broken bands and they are sat sadly in my jewellery box

begging to be fixed and brought back to life

I cannot bear to tell them that they cannot

be fixed

they seem in a better place with a

false sense of hope

my fingers miss the familiarity and are

colder now

replacements are being searched for

but my body will know the difference