Step one, slip it on my finger.<\/p>\n
Beginning of a routine,<\/p>\n
the daily comfort of monotony.<\/p>\n
Summer\u2019s sweaty noose<\/p>\n
cutting off my index finger.<\/p>\n
A damp, pale scar is left<\/p>\n
on my reddened flesh.
\nOne band hugs my skin,<\/p>\n
the other rotates freely.<\/p>\n
I twist it with my thumb.<\/p>\n
A safety rope, an iron life preserver<\/p>\n
keeping me afloat in<\/p>\n
a sea of unease.<\/p>\n
A chilled piece of metal<\/p>\n
branding my chest.<\/p>\n
It reads, \u201cProne to panic attacks.\u201d<\/p>\n
It could be my wedding band,<\/p>\n
a marriage between<\/p>\n
me and my own dread.<\/p>\n
Put it on a chain,<\/p>\n
like a promise to a dead spouse.<\/p>\n
Little do they know,<\/p>\n
it\u2019s just the wrong size.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I hold it to my mouth,<\/p>\n
like a cold kiss to<\/p>\n
soothe nerve-bitten lips.<\/p>\n
Spinning like a carousel,<\/p>\n
or a steel ballerina<\/p>\n
wrapped around my finger.<\/p>\n
Her dance keeps me calm.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Madeline Brzeczek Step one, slip it on my finger. Beginning of a routine, the daily comfort of monotony. Summer\u2019s sweaty noose cutting off my index finger. A damp, pale scar is left on my reddened flesh. One band hugs my skin, the other rotates freely. I twist it with my thumb. A safety rope, an… <\/p>\n