-Vermont, August 5, 1989
                 Erica to Ken

The red and black biplane
swoops down
on the green hills of Vermont.

A little airstrip
between two mountain ranges,
and people coming
with balloons and streamers,
kites, gliders
and winged wishes.

The bride climbs out
trailing wildflowers,
parachutes, kisses,

and the groom, big beast
with soft eyes that gleam
like butter,
grins, a horny boyscout,
and scoops her
in his arms.

Fearful, I have walked this world
not daring to hope for the cut half
severed from me
in my last life.

Defiant, I have flown
above my fears, flaunted them
like you, scattering jokes
to drown the sound
of my heart cracking
like winter ice,
and to still
the heckling
of the gallery.

And now you come
to tell me
you know the child
behind the wanton smile
and that you love her
as I know the boy
inside the rough beast
and I can lead him
home.

They marry in a field
of wildflowers
near a pond
whose least ripple
betrays the spirit within.

Intermediate
between earth and sky,
this palimpsest
for the mind of God
has caught the clouds
within its brimming bowl.

Butterflies and hummingbirds
hover nearby.

Deer tiptoe unafraid
on delicate hooves,
and crickets and bullfrogs
chorus.

The red and black biplane
takes off,
banks, turns and flies through
a green notch
in the mountains.
It soars into the blue,
seeming to disappear
into a cloud.

In a little while
it will come back to earth.

Perhaps that is the whole point.

© Erica Mann Jong

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