A Truer Marriage
/black patent heels
bruising tender places
for a lie
The young couple exchanged rings below a giant crucifix suspended at least 40 feet up the north wall of windows draped in black gauze. Wooden ceiling beams crossed at asymmetrical angles, reminding me of the Second Station of the Cross whereby Jesus' cross is carried on his shoulder with great difficulty and pain.
How the ritual has changed. How meaning has evolved.
There are moments when one is perfectly aware of engaging in something that will cause some varying degree discordance. I felt like a trout caught on the line, fighting back and forth to no avail. Eventually one has to go to the fucking wedding, wear all the garb, make all the small talk, and surrender to what is. I am so exhausted by this and all the compromises that make perfect sense, yet lead to the lack of connection and joy.
In those moments of protest, I thought about sitting on the bank barefoot instead, about honoring a truer, more beautiful marriage by brushing my lips against your ear whispering, “lets stay here instead, beloved.” This is the way and yet. And yet.
Tomatoes continue coming on and peppers too. Carrots are still maturing. It is the better way but it is not enough, and I think you know what I mean. Sometimes I mistake the wind in the giant oak trees for the sound of my brook in Vermont. Soon enough the leaves will fall though, and there will be no mistaking where I am.