tossing rings in the ocean

the waters off of plymouth are cold
even in july. even when it's blazing hot
and the sun is demanding bronze tribute
from the fair-skinned passersby.

down 8 fathoms in the depths of the bay
with the periwinkles and flounder
is a ring you won on a trip to the fair
as a little girl.

once you thought it was silver and opal
not aluminum and plastic,
but it broke and you didn't
when you crossed the ocean.

in a shop nearby you bought something real
to wrap around your finger with me
something amethyst and silver
to match the memories of the fair