Ruby Ring

It was not a gift.

This ruby on my ring finger

was not a gift from somebody

who loved me, who recognized me.

 

She would reject my life, my blood,

my hometown, my family, my

relationship- her granddaughter.

 

This ring was not a gift, it was 

a trade. Apologizing was not fit.

She was not sorry. She was dead.

 

A prize to help remember her.

Remember what? The nothingness?

Missed calls? The letters never sent?

 

This ruby on my finger is 

as scarlet as the blood we share,

no matter what she tells herself.