Papers report the wedding – dress sewn from sailcloth, band any other woman’s bangle – but I’ve never proposed, even though she’s the only one I could kiss goodnight without sinking to my knees. My manager tats her a pretty letter, counts imaginary dollars aloud, but I can’t sign.
Yes, I think of the house we’d share – windows punched high enough to see the view; no ceilings, only sky, above our heads. Simple beauty of proportion in our empty clothes, hanging side-by-side, in the cupboard.
If we were paired for the ark, she’d be my match. But how can I marry a woman I’ve seen only on a Barnum and Bailey poster? (And a drawing, at that.) After chit chat of height runs dry – fear of chandeliers, how to best stretch a shoe – what to talk about?
And children. I’d never pass this millstone to another.
4 comments:
On the first read I didn't get it. Then I read the title and the piece again and enjoyed the heights of it.
I didn't understand the line:
My manager tats her a pretty letter, counts imaginary dollars aloud, but I can’t sign.
But I am not accustomed to the verb 'tats'.
I think it might be stronger to chop off the end. I like the "What would we talk about?" (after the height conversation is over).
I like the idea of tatting a letter very mmuch but found it too fem for E & his (presumably male) manager
(reuse it in another piece if you decide to change it!)
Think the last 2 lines are my favourite in this piece.
Maybe he'd say "Not children" so that it's a continuation, link to the above sentence. "Or children"? something maybe to ponder.
(Wasn't sure why their house would have no roof if they had high windows. Maybe I didn't read that quite right)
I didn't have any trouble following, but I did find the end a bit disappointing. I guess because it was a bit predictable? Right done to the use of the word millstone. I mean just that last line as predictable.
oh I find this so sad. I've seen his suit and shoes etc. in the Willowbunch museum.
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