Face Up

I turned the cushion face-down for a month,

then turned it back. The ring's still there—

pale brown oval, barely visible

except at three o'clock, from the other chair,

when the light comes through the window low.

Someone set a glass down wrong last March

at a party that was just people in a room.

Not a scene. I don't see them now. The arch

of a year does that—no falling out,

just the usual slack. The couch was bought

for four hundred dollars from a store

that's closed since then. I haven't thought

of a solution. The ring is faint.

It's almost nothing. Almost not

the kind of thing you'd notice

unless you were already looking at that spot.