Earring | Rebecca Pyle

He wore one himself, Shakespeare did, in one picture,
One earring, dim old-knew gold.
I remember that earring
More than his face
Or his collar. Why bother
With such a
Nubbin?
Jung said
Metals
Represent guilt:
But—-Shakespeare’s? More likely he was
Reminding us of ours—love lost
While we were busy with
Mirrors, like the French in their restaurants
In the seventeen hundreds, diamonds worn to
Sparkle, reflect, dazzle:
The sun and its lucky patterns drifting
While we ate duck duck goose apples and
Complained.
Meanwhile sun goes stuffing
Opened jewelry boxes as icy ballot boxes:
Claiming first-off, all fellow gold,
Next, friendly hostage
Silver.
(Silver follows—- as the moon
Follows planet us, and we follow the sun:
That’s us, middleman:
Earth,betwixt arguing circles,
Shakespeare in charge of our slightly wobbled balance.)
But metals other than sun-gold,
Really just castoffs, castaways strewn:
Our American beach, and its hero the straggling
Leaning lean man shuffling his metal detecting pole
Back and forth, in arcs, in pyramids. Somewhere the silver, somewhere
The gold never tarnishing, somewhere the wristwatch
Filled with sand.