before

Grandma gave me a gold ring
with a sparkly blue stone
I was less than five
some how I slipped past Mommy
wore it out to play
through forbidden woods
past dangerous berry bushes
into a treacherous sand pit
where big children
taught me to ride
flattened out cardboard boxes
down steep loose sandy pit slopes
of which a small child's adult mind
holds only one picture
coarse red sandy cardboard boxed memory
wind rushing past
flying forward down
under bright hot sunshine

I don't know
if I gave my ring to someone
or if someone took it
or if it just slipped off into sand
but I went home without it

Grandma never gave me
anything like it
ever again

Today coarse red sand grits
under my boots
protecting me from slipping
on icy sidewalks

I look down while I walk