~ Delta Poetry Review ~
Tobi Alfier
King Cake
She realized she’d lost his ring
one quiet morning, when fog
muscled in from the sea.
When outside sounds were muffled
and even the sounds of her
riffling through papers and memories
were near to silent, like ghost-tiptoes
on wooden floors.
Was it a vital possession,
well yes it was. She’d twist it like
a worrystone on a palm lined with questions,
like a magic eight-ball, like cards
by the tarot reader in her tiny turquoise
house in front of the rental car agency
where people pawned their rides
for ones in shadow.
Did she have it to ward off the ladies
in front of the Korean market,
the ones who passed out bible verses
and hand sanitizer for cleanliness of soul,
what an odd combination—she couldn’t remember.
Did she have it at the Goodwill
where she nabbed a dress dropped off
by a woman in a Tesla,
cold cotton against her warm cheek.
But that ring, with the tiny diamond
and the giant promise she’s never broken
and neither has he, did she feel it brush
against her with that dress, perfectly
functional,
ridiculously non-worn, and somewhat spiteful
in the tossing, did she feel the ring
she couldn’t say. Under oath she couldn’t say.
Like the lucky slice of King cake
the ring turned itself up
and even that was a mystery.
Sorrowful cello music was playing
and there it was. The cello turned graceful,
she stood like stone, time moving backwards
and forwards and backwards again,
her relieved laughter gambling with tears.
Tobi Alfier
is published nationally and internationally. Credits include
War,
Literature and the
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