Elegy for a Promise Ring
After Iliana Rocha
An opal is just another means of surrender. A circlet of diamonds like a crown of candles. A kiss behind the grocery store. The peach lace bra I told you about while you were in Hawaii. A precipice, a lighted path to the unknown. I wanted you to know those moonlit places, the silver openings of a body. Your bitten fingernails across my thigh. The crinoline skirts under a white dress, the easy acquiescence. A ring on my left hand, songs by the Beach Boys, wouldn’t it be nice if we were older. The moonlight stealing into the front seat, another way of promising. I didn’t know it would end like that, the red nightgown, the tea lights near the bed. Handprints on my legs, the fan blades turning in a circle, the way you pulsed like a star. I don’t think you saw the opals in the corners of my eyes, burning. I don’t think you saw me blow out the candles. The way the wicks curled into themselves. The way the burned strands split into two.
