Poem of the Month

Signet Ring by Iris Anne Lewis

Clasped in the velour ridges

of the jewellery box, my father’s ring

stands erect

above the clutter of beads and trinkets.

Its face is plain, gold with no engraving.

Only accidental scratches inscribe

the details of a hard-worked life.


Mostly I leave it in its box,


preferring silver lockets,

bright-gemmed brooches,

pendants strung on leather.


But when, wild-eyed, I need a father’s care,

I pull it from its resting place,

slip it on my thumb, feel

circumscribed by love.


First published in ARTEMISpoetry Issue 24