The Ring of Iona

Kimberlee Rettberg

The cold Atlantic ribs
In with a shove,
Then leaves,
Fat waves smiling and satisfied.
Left hidden among the stone
Breaking ground
With a hammer punch,
Cold-cocked steel
It’s there, I know–

The ring, the ring-!
Gold band, purple stone:

Then waves grip upward
With a gulp,
Swallowing the thing
That people want.
Withering with the gathered tides
Bobbing in and out,
That ring, that bitch jewel
Sinking through the floor.

Are the sea’s fools
Staring back through
Refractions in the glass
Time after time,
Age after age-?
Wanting the same ring,
Only that one thing
That forever eludes.

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Illustration by Kimberlee Rettberg