Queen of the Mystic

I found a ring when I was a kid
under the navy and peach floral couch
in the room my mom designated as
"for guests only"
which meant sometimes
when no one was looking
I would crawl in on hands and knees
with feet bare not only to protect
the velvety silver carpeting
but to revel in its unspoiled plushness
and it was in one of these
moments of revelry
while I was making imaginary snow angels
with light and dark swishes of the fibers
beneath my feathery limbs
that I first caught a glimpse of the magic
and when I put it on my finger
the colors changed in the light
flashing from blue to green to pink
beneath the smooth pale oval gem
the ring looking very much
like a princess in reverse
a crown wearing a head
instead of the other way around
and it was then that I named myself
the Queen of the Mystic
long before I ever knew of Van Morrison
and his modern minstrel tunes
and his tales of slipstreams and gypsy souls
of course it is possible
that my dad might have sang them to me
while pushing the bright orange stroller
that was once my trusty carriage
and however the moniker came to be
this morning I was christened by it anew
as I spyed a lone doe lingering
near the frosty pond
the opalescent snow flush with dawn
the colors changing in the light
flashing from blue to green to pink
and my thumb reached up to feel
the place where a magical ring
first graced me with the power of belief