Mishaps or Miracles

The other day he told me, “Darren,
I need your help, and forgiveness.”
So I rose from our bed nervous
for a moment I stopped breathing
as I slid between the rooms
of his apartment, to where he stood
inside the bathroom.

He didn’t have to tell me
all the things I could imagine
but I had thought it would be me
who’d lose it first
washing my hands beneath a faucet
where water drained without remorse
or slipping into an airplane restroom
and watching it fall from my finger
into that endless empty abyss
of a Delta toilet.

Instead he told me his ring
had fallen from where he’d placed it
on a shelf to shower and now
it had rolled beneath the washer
which is wedged between the sink
and the toilet
probably as old
as the apartment itself
and he knelt down, face to the tiles
told me he could see it sparkling.

He kept his eyes fixed
while I sought a tool to recover
we tried magazines
and a ladle
before he succeeded
with a knife
drawing it out from the shadows
a sliver of shining steel
adorned with liquid promise
and all the tender laughter
that floated around us
when we confessed our love
and bound ourselves
to each other.

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