The Earrings

The Earrings

“In a box a lady with diamonds in her earrings, their light changing almost uninterruptedly.”

                 --- Kafka’s Diaries

Where are those earrings now? Not
In her ears, surely, the lobes
So long ago rotted away. But maybe
They were her favorite pair
And they buried her wearing them,
So that they've fallen now
To either side of her skull.
More likely they’re in a safety deposit box
In a bank in Lucerne. Maybe a girl
Who works there takes them
Out from time to time — they trust her,
They’ve given her all the keys —
And puts them in her ears, concealing them 
Under her voluminous blonde hair
That darkens in winter. So she 
Who makes next to nothing
To care for the immense wealth of others 
Gets to imagine that 
She sits in a box at the symphony.
Down below, in the cheap seats,
A man has turned to stare up at her.
With his dark eyes he looks like a man
Who will die soon. But not until then
Will he forget her, the diamonds in her ears 
Brilliant with a light with which 
No darkness, no matter
How profound, can interfere.