wedding rings 

we were married in a bullet shell.
ate handfuls of dirt
pretending it was cake.
that year lasted longer & longer.
first a month of thirty days
& then a month of eighty. 
nights kept multiplying.
two moons arrived as brothers.
i orbited you like a wedding ring.
then, you stole all my shoes 
& threw them in a pit of fire telling me,
now you have no feet to run with.
all i could think of was
how my fathers wedding ring became so tight 
he had to take the ring off. his red fingers.
a noose is a place you are pulled from.
galleries of nooses.
now, my father's ring lives 
like a slug in the bathroom.
neon light gods gathering.
once, he lost the ring in a coral reef
in cancun. paid divers 
to retrieve it. that glint of gold
like a winking eye. you were always
a version of him as all our lovers 
are chalk outlines of our fathers. 
ice skating around my eyelids.
i plucked dandelions
from my throat. you took me diving
to go look for my face.
found a grotto of mirrors.
pointing to each on you said,
you know you are nothing but
a photograph? i know he was sort of right.
i find the frame every day.
here is where replica spit me out.
i did love him i think. laid awake
each night pulling the ring as hard as i could.
widening & widening, eventually i made it
the size of a bear trap & then
i slipped out. still though, i see
a gold ring around all my vision.
turning & turning, i expect to find
the rim. instead, i am the empty 
where a finger could go. 
he screamed in to envelops 
& mailed them to me. i do not open them.
they pile by the front door. 
i live in a metal mint tin.
my father doesn't wear his wedding ring.
it shrinks to the size of a tooth. 

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