The Red Earrings

Afterwards, I refused to wear them for a long time.
I didn't exactly hate them, but I resented them.
For having been there, on the bus platform, in my ears;
For inserting themselves into that goodbye hug
(She always liked to hug me tight, as if she were
Trying to press me back into herself, so I'd stay);
For making me wince when the metal cut into
The earlobe.

A scene rehearsed a hundred times: me, leaving
And them, waving, side by side, as long as I was in sight,
Forgiving my stubborn absences, loving steadily,
Unhurriedly, even (and especially) from bus terminals,
Airports and train stations -- those mythical places
Of departures and arrivals, of awareness
And of change. The scene of the final parting, perhaps.
And so,

In the first settling of the accounts, I resented
The red metal hoops (which I had picked that morning
With special care) for getting in the way of
What turned out to be the last hug she could offer;
For symbolizing, literally, the painful
Barrier between us, and mostly installed by
Me, cringing and shying away from too much
Love.

But then years passed and blurred all but the essential.
What I thought was all I had -- a few hair-clips, scarves,
And a watch which I brought after the funeral,
Various resentments, and the earring annoyance --
Turned back to simple souvenirs, objects I could
Look at or put on (the earrings a little worse for the wear),
But, ultimately, only trivial details of my
True inheritance.