you have to go pick up your kids from basketball practice
and I have to go sell my dead mother’s wedding ring
let me rephrase—
I don’t have to, I choose to
I know it doesn’t take up much space but
it’s just another thing sitting on a desk collecting dust
I have no emotional attachment, no sentimental attachment
everything I need to know, everything I need to remember
is still a ghost floating aimlessly inside my head
and these things will only be erased by dementia or a stray bullet
my sister gave it to me for the same reason, no attachment
she says, as she always says, “I’m just downsizing.”
and I laugh to myself that her idea of downsizing
is getting rid of an item the size of a nickel
and it turns out that’s about what the ring is worth
let me rephrase—
it’s worth what someone is willing to pay for it
value is proportionate to the emotional story behind it
the sentimentality of never forgetting something
but this isn’t some sloppy Jackson Pollock painting
an item worth millions to the right buyer
and I’ll tell you some things are better cast into the fire

– Ken Tomaro