Marriage is a Bungee Jump
Marriage is a bungee jump off some box canyon
in Colorado, concession manned by a minion
from the fifties high on weed, beard he hadn't brushed
since high school. The ropes felt new enough
and he swore he measured them, the fall to the rocks
a lovers' leap eighty stories long.
He made us sign a waiver and pay in cash.
Folding the bills away, he slouched back to the shack
and high-fived a friend who passed the bottle back—
Done it again, like cupid. We heard a match strike,
the sizzle of hemp. We checked the ropes, the stiff knots
tied by someone who flunked that lesson in scouts.
We'd checked the charts, the geology of cliffs
and canyons, but no one knows which fibers split,
which granite ledges crack. On the edge of hope
for nothing we'd ever done, we tugged at the ropes,
both ropes, blessing the stretch and strain
with our bodies, a long time falling to the pain
and certainly of stop. Hand in hand we stepped up
wavering to the ledge, hearing the rush
of a river we leaped to, a far-off
cawing crow, the primitive breeze of the fall,
and squeezed, clinging to each other's vows
that only death could separate us now.
"Marriage is a Bungee Jump" by Walt McDonald, from Blessings the Body Gave © Ohio State University Press, 1998. Reprinted with permissionin Colorado, concession manned by a minion
from the fifties high on weed, beard he hadn't brushed
since high school. The ropes felt new enough
and he swore he measured them, the fall to the rocks
a lovers' leap eighty stories long.
He made us sign a waiver and pay in cash.
Folding the bills away, he slouched back to the shack
and high-fived a friend who passed the bottle back—
Done it again, like cupid. We heard a match strike,
the sizzle of hemp. We checked the ropes, the stiff knots
tied by someone who flunked that lesson in scouts.
We'd checked the charts, the geology of cliffs
and canyons, but no one knows which fibers split,
which granite ledges crack. On the edge of hope
for nothing we'd ever done, we tugged at the ropes,
both ropes, blessing the stretch and strain
with our bodies, a long time falling to the pain
and certainly of stop. Hand in hand we stepped up
wavering to the ledge, hearing the rush
of a river we leaped to, a far-off
cawing crow, the primitive breeze of the fall,
and squeezed, clinging to each other's vows
that only death could separate us now.
When I read this poem from Garrison Keillor's website it so resonated with me; especially the last stanza. It takes a lot for a poem to make me cry, but this one certainly does. clinging to each other's vows that only death could separate us now. Whew!! Wish I'd been able to read this to Gwen some night before we fell asleep; "clinging to each other's vows". . .I can only trust that she's the one who sent it to me.
This morning a very light snow is falling; I've been watching it gather on the bell outside the window. There's absolutely no wind, so the snow just slowly piles up; on the bell it looks like frosting on a cupcake. This will be a good morning for me to get some more Christmas decorations out and run to the mall for a few things I want to get. This almost feels like how I remember it would feel when Gwen and I did these things together. Can't believe I said I'm going to the mall. Do it for those who love me, and whom I love in return.
This can't help but be one of those blue and melancholy days, Dear; one of those days when I cling to you. It will be OK when I get to moving out and about, preparing for the happy times ahead.
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