This Ring

I work so hard

On this ring.

I use what materials I can:

A wooden pendant I bought for myself

A long time ago;

R's drill, though I'm probably using it wrong;

Ripped up shreds of emery paper

From a dissected nail file

Because I can't afford sandpaper.

I break and lose things--

A chipped ceramic knife that I toss in the garbage,

A cylindrical metal piece from the toolbox

That I don't even know the name of

Rolls off the balcony into oblivion--

Sacrificial offerings to my clumsy process of trial and error.

I hyperfixate on it, perhaps too much.

In every free and idle moment,

I'm attentively shaping the wood,

Hurdling mishaps in stride

When the drill whirrs to a stop with a drained battery,

Or when every emery paper scrap

Is beyond used up.

She buys me sandpaper sponges,

Which I rip up and which make things a lot easier.

I apologize for getting frustrated sometimes.

"So many things I've tried to do for you this year

Fell through.

This can't be one of those things."

She assures me that it's ok,

Although she did confiscate the ring today temporarily

So that I would give her attention.

Ultimately, it's just a ring,

A material object worth only the value assigned to it,

But it's all I can do as far as an engagement ring.

I must remember that my time with her

Is more valuable than anything I could give to her

Or make for her;

We missed each other so sorely for those months

Last winter.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

I'm still going to work on it

When she's away working.

Her body is sensitive, so

I want it to feel alright on her finger.

I shaped it to fit her left ring finger perfectly;

She felt warm when I slipped the unfinished ring

On her hand for reference and she realized that.