wedding rings we were married in a bullet shell. ate handfuls of dirt pretending it was cake. that year lasted longer & longer. first a month of thirty days & then a month of eighty. nights kept multiplying. two moons arrived as brothers. i orbited you like a wedding ring. then, you stole all my shoes & threw them in a pit of fire telling me, now you have no feet to run with. all i could think of was how my fathers wedding ring became so tight he had to take the ring off. his red fingers. a noose is a place you are pulled from. galleries of nooses. now, my father's ring lives like a slug in the bathroom. neon light gods gathering. once, he lost the ring in a coral reef in cancun. paid divers to retrieve it. that glint of gold like a winking eye. you were always a version of him as all our lovers are chalk outlines of our fathers. ice skating around my eyelids. i plucked dandelions from my throat. you took me diving to go look for my face. found a grotto of mirrors. pointing to each on you said, you know you are nothing but a photograph? i know he was sort of right. i find the frame every day. here is where replica spit me out. i did love him i think. laid awake each night pulling the ring as hard as i could. widening & widening, eventually i made it the size of a bear trap & then i slipped out. still though, i see a gold ring around all my vision. turning & turning, i expect to find the rim. instead, i am the empty where a finger could go. he screamed in to envelops & mailed them to me. i do not open them. they pile by the front door. i live in a metal mint tin. my father doesn't wear his wedding ring. it shrinks to the size of a tooth.