Poetic injustice

Let’s simply say that on January 20th I was inspired by a young woman, her poetry and the story behind her beautiful ring. I wanted to share the emotion and creativity with my sister, the poet, who loves birds. If I’d known those rings existed, I would have gifted one to her already.

Given my sister’s appreciation for the poem and the songbird, I tried to find a ring for a future occasion: her birthday, the next big poetry gig or Christmas. In the spirit of the day and my novel idea, I initially searched the internet based on Amanda’s name and the person that gave it to her. The result revealed high end jewelry stores, and the fact that my-ah wallet wasn’t as thick as Ms. Angelou’s. Not giving up, I changed my search engine approach.

I restarted with more general terms, briefly forgetting that Internet danger, as I waited for an Etsy or Ebay replica to appear. My shopping intent was miles apart from the second query result. I quickly looked over my shoulder as my eyes bulged open and my jaw dropped to the floor. A new set of choices filled the screen.

I cannot, will not, shall not share the photos; they are not this blog’s aesthetic. The ‘cage ring’ search I used, now produces additional hand jewelry choices since the Inauguration. However, that first day I searched, the result was jewelry (no: padlocks? sex toys?) for a different part of the body. The browser history on my iPhone now includes male chastity rings and I blame my bird-loving, poetic sister. Let’s simply call my Googling event another coming-of-age story.