Love will shave less important details like facts or presence

Måtte dele denne også med dere før tirsdagen er helt over. Jon Sands skrev dette diktet til venneparet Mollie og Jacobs bryllup:

 

Mollie & Jacob 

Years after my grandmother, Grace
had left us,
my grandfather remained
carrying Alzheimer’s
in one of his many suitcases.

In the hours when dream and reality
were not cooperating
those nearest the caregiving would say,
Grandpa! Grandpa!
What’s the best thing you ever did?

He would pause—
his body now a more contorted exclamation point
and would reply,
Marrying Grace.

Or

when the disease would not allow him her absence
the gentle in his eyes would find that of the requester—
now playing the role of beautiful woman to whom
he had been joined for 56 years
12 children
1 world war

he would reply,
Marrying You.

Love will shave less important details
like facts or presence.

It will make that ok.

It will be young.

It will place you
flat on the grass
staring up at the jet-black out-there
picking angels out of the sky
with thumbs and forefingers—
the kind only two of you can see

into meringue dance floors
where fingers swallow hips
your head nearly skims the floor when he dips you
and your legs move together so positive
you have to call it love
or religion.

Or the whole day together on the couch
only burritos to keep you company.
But it’s ok
because it’s California
and it’s Mexican food
and it’s love.

It will find you on sidewalks
that lead towards away
a wake of regret smudged
across the surrounding pavement.

And the same concrete will carry you home.
Your mouth will say I’m sorry.
Your hands, I was wrong.
Eyes, I love you
after everything.

And your eyes will mean laugh
and laugh will mean forgive.

It will find you at 2 A.M.
in Wisconsin,
(when neither of you live in Wisconsin
but maybe her sister does)
kneeling beside a couch
uncontained
she is almost asleep now
and there is a plastic gold ring in your palm
you are whispering
You know, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

Or sometimes the couch becomes Nebraska
the floor becomes Houston
and there is no sister
the ring is not plastic
or even tangible
it is just the distance of a protracted line
waiting to be rolled into a circle
but it still is.

And love still is a roller coaster,
the giant wooden roller coaster at King’s Island
sitting tight next to Lillian
even though you don’t ride roller coasters
but she loves them, and she laughs
which makes you laugh
every time.

The stories and the characters,
the characters and the details
will smooth through your fingers like a child in a sandbox.

Somewhere
your grandchildren will find you.
They will ask you
what sits at the top of the right decisions
you plucked from all the wrong ones?

A trace of gentle in your eyes
you will reply
Marrying Mollie.
Marrying Jacob.

Or depending on the day,
Marrying you.

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