Creative Coping

Ring scratched me

Ring chose me

Ring rang bright

When I put it on-

True it rang,

With the truth of light

Filtered through fathomless

Aeons before molten bronze.

‘It’s a very powerful stone’, she said,

It knew me before I new it

It called me to it,

Its point, set in silver, dangled sharp

And chipped top finger flesh,

Exposing backstage blood and raw; but

Flesh flapped back and sealed beneath the ring-

A rock called citrine, post-card from Earth’s core.