I’m rarely without my wedding ring, a beautiful David Yurman piece which my wife gave to me as an engagement gift; when we were wed in 2005, I simply switched it to a different hand.
Of course, I’m on my fourth and final marriage. I’ve had three divorces, and hence three wedding rings left over. The ring from the first marriage lay in a little box, and that box was “accidentally” thrown away by my second wife. My second wife and I separated while I was living in a recovery home, and one of my fellow addicts stole the ring from that marriage, not that I had any reason to miss it. (One hopes it bought a nice high.) And the third ring? The third ring was thrown into the sea, by me, quite deliberately.
But I know many divorced folks who still have the rings from prior marriages. This Denise Levertov poem is a fine reflection on the subject of what might, or might not, be done with a gold or platinum band which symbolizes, if not a promise broken, a shared journey ended.
Wedding-Ring
My wedding-ring lies in a basket
as if at the bottom of a well.
Nothing will come to fish it back up
and onto my finger again.
It lies
among keys to abandoned houses,
nails waiting to be needed and hammered
into some wall,
telephone numbers with no names attached,
idle paperclips.
It can’t be given away
for fear of bringing ill-luck.
It can’t be sold
for the marriage was good in its own
time, though that time is gone.
Could some artificer
beat into it bright stones, transform it
into a dazzling circlet no one could take
for solemn betrothal or to make promises
living will not let them keep? Change it
into a simple gift I could give in friendship?
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