Essentials

What makes sense to me now is being close to you

with all of me,

no reservations
nor walls
nor unforgiveness
nor bitterness
for what you have left unsaid
nor what I have failed to tell you;

we bring just what we have in ourselves,
the essential that begs nothing more than
to be encircled, to encircle—
to be encircled, to encircle—
to climb together, and to rest.

Upcoming Poetry for Early Sping

Now that spring is coming and we've been married for all of eight months, it seems time to post some poems that were hitherto unpublishable.

The theme is certainly intimacy, my wonderings about what is too much, too far, yet close enough. It boiled down to questions about trust and wisdom, and how sometimes my trust of my partner was contrary to the wisdom of my teachers and community. Then again, how much of my desires were gratification or manipulation? What I mean is, how close should you get to sex when you're dating? We struggled to answer that question, and the next three days contain some poems about it.

Bucking Tradition

Because rings seem to me to have a tradition of ownership behind them, when Jake and I started talking about getting engaged, I bulked at the idea of a ring. He was delighted not to have to spend several paychecks (as modern tradition tells it) on a piece of jewelry. So we skipped the ring. 

To be clear, I took and take no issue with a financial declaration of intent, a gift of engagement. In Amish and or other plain communities, a sewing machine or other household item seals the deal perfectly well. I am not that useful of a person. We thought together about what kind of gift we both might enjoy, and I got stuck on the idea of a painting for our home together. 

Looking back at these conversations, I can tell he admired my idea, but it's difficult to tell how much of his heart is in the idea of a painting in general. I researched what I liked, gave links and recommendations of artists' work I liked, but Jake's sister, Hannah, does beautiful watercolor work. Why leave home? We asked her and she agreed to paint us an engagement landscape to be commonly enjoyed. 

Jake asked me to marry him in another blogpost, someday maybe, and I said yes. I am sure I cried, though I can't remember. I just remember being happy, and wanting to pick up rocks and flower petals and leaves to commemorate the moment. 

We began to announce our engagement. (Reader, I'm going to marry him!) In lieu of pictures of us with my left hand proudly pronounced, we just called people and enjoyed bits of conversation. I still appreciate that simplicity of announcement, because it was real and close with nothing fancy happening at all. 

I slept easily, I assure you, after we made the no-ring decision. What a magnanimous, forward-thinking gift maven I have become, I congratulated myself in the car mirror every morning for a week or two. But then, after we were officially engaged, did I look in the car mirror, did I fix a hair, and did my eye linger on my left hand? Far be it from me! 

One morning, at breakfast, I confessed my ringlessness to Rachel. I couldn't believe it mattered. I had no need of Jake to mark his territory (Yeah! And when I say it like that, rings are insulting!)! 

"Or have I been wrong?" I asked. "It seems to me that it would be nice to have a marker of a change in my life, especially when we're still living so far apart."

"... You could just buy a silver ring from Walmart for $15 and stop thinking about it!" Her suggestion seemed like a cheat of the system. Does it count as an engagement ring if it's not expensive? Of course! Does it count if I buy it for myself and give it to myself and don't tell Jake? Uh. Sure!

I bought a $15 ring I liked, and told Jake about it, blushing at my own inconsistency, my admittance of being indeed just as basic as I feared to be. He felt betrayed: "I thought we agreed you didn't want a ring? If you do want a ring, I want to give it to you." Later that week, when we saw each other again, I took off the ring, handed it to him, he presented it to me, and again asked if I'd marry him. I cried again and said yes again, and wear the ring quite happily.

(Yes, we're still getting the painting done.)