Found last night in my jewelry box. Cheap dangle of rhinestone. Clip-on and just a bit of a pinch. I wore the pair of them that night we drove around and drove around, the two of us new and hungry for us. We found a quiet spot to park. The city all around us. The beep and roar of living cars and the island of us two in the middle. You kissed my earring right off that night, I would later joke. And later, you would say you found it on the mat, how you hung it on the rearview, attached it to your college tassel, and liked to watch it all sway as you drove along. You later told me how you liked how It shimmered the sun, the glassy stab of it that probably still hurt a little even after we were done.
Francine Witte’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Smokelong Quarterly, Wigleaf, Mid-American Review, Passages North, and many others. Her latest books are Dressed All Wrong for This (Blue Light Press,) The Way of the Wind (AdHoc fiction,) and (The Theory of Flesh.) Her chapbook, The Cake, The Smoke, The Moon (flash fiction) will be published by ELJ September, 2021. She lives in NYC.
Photo by Tania Medina