Rose Hannaford: Black Ring

Black Ring

Day 4

She's been here for years
but yesterday, I heard she might
                                      have told me a lie.

​Every evening I visit her
But would I count her as a friend?

​Little white circle on a palm
Promises so much

                                      ​​She tumbles down in a waterfall
                                      tells me I'll be just fine
                                                                     As long as I keep seeing her.

I know I shouldn't trust “Yes, the pills can inhibit your libido.
the word of a stranger Don't feel rushed to decide. (It could just be a phase.)”

​But the day after, I see her
once more, and we talk. Then

​when I leave, I don't take her with me.

Day 2

​Like a newspaper flung in your face by the wind,
the image is drawn, displayed, unbidden

Day 1

​I say that the world should have a thousand different words for love, because there are
a thousand different kinds

And maybe I'm just minus one

and i know how much you wish

​i would give just that one
to you

​i'm sorry
that i’m hurting you, my friend
but there's nothing i can do

​(or would)
(I value you too much to lie)

​i love you
but not that way.

Day 6

(I want to be but                                           I’m gross I'm disgusting I'm a pervert or something
      what if i'm not
                                     I'm not filled, am I? I'm baroque
Pretend that there's nothing and there will be nothing
                                                                                        this voice intrudes telling lies?
                                                               but                             (~ pearl)
                              What if I'm not?
                                                        What if I'm just
                                                        an excuse          a coward

Day 3

Day 5

Day 7

I'm here.                            I am.           I promise me
And it's so relaxing strangely
Even if I baroque a few times

Maroon and blue and mud-dappled hue
                                                  through the rain I drink the petrichor under this
                                                                                                    umbrella term

And I can't finish this poem because I'm
still in it, still here
hematite lustrous and such a strange comfort
though some things still lurk
I can't say how I'll end because maybe I won't
A circling loop, endless forever
And for the now, I promise, I'm here.

​Day 8

Three years ago I wrote this poem? Four?                And here I am still.
I remember when we couldn't connect.
An unkempt line, worm wiggling
Floundering
But I'm connected. Oh I am connected.                    Oh the ends are connected.
And now I'm ready.
Here are my lines, ready to form rings
For all the others who feel a thousand different kinds of love
And perhaps just minus one.

Rose Hannaford is an aspiring novelist, with occasional dalliances in poetry. She graduated in 2020 with a bachelor's degree in English, as well as minor degrees in Latin and Ancient Greek. Her lifelong love of stories has created in her a bubbling well of near-daily inspiration, and she hopes to share stories and poetry of discovery, self-exploration, grit, enchantment, and love. This is her first publication. She lives in the Pacific Northwest.