The Return

Here you go,
here is what you asked for.
It was never mine, though
at one time that was
your intention, provided
I deserved it, in your view.

Apparently, I never quite
earned it and there it sat,
in your underwear drawer,
Chiampesan white gold
and diamonds, tucked
into a navy velvet bag, still
wrapped in blue store paper,
a tangle of ribbons

—and the receipt, either a reflection
of how much you esteemed me,
how much you owed me, or
how good I had to be, before it
adorned my neck.

No matter, really.
You have lost the ability
to hurt me, I cannot love
under terms, and I do not want
what you could not give
without condition.

Claire Juno, © 2016