Friday, March 14, 2008

my moonstone ring

7 years. I had that moonstone ring for seven years, and then I go and lose it.
I don't even know where or how I lost it; just realized that the stone had fallen out when I casually looked at my hands during rehearsals.

People say I can just get another stone fixed on to it, 'cos only the stone was lost. Technically, I still have the ring. Throw all technicality out of the window. I have lost the ring. Forever. Damn.

If I had to lose it, wish I had lost it totally. I could have watched it slip out of my finger and fall into a pit, or maybe my six year old nephew could have thrown it into the river, the way he threw my cellphone. But no, I am left with the metal caricature of the once fine and shining ring, and I don't even have the memory of my loss to mull on. Sigh.

There's a poem we had selected for a poetry reading last year. It just makes perfect sense all of a sudden; not that I ever doubted what Elizabeth Bishop had to say.

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

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