C.I.K. l.xi.13 J.D. McC
This band of airy thinness spins until
It slowly dips
And settles on teh black granite counter top
Through the blinds slips
A shaft of light that changes the ring into a thrilled
The monumental and the miniature swapped
But in the grip
Of each other’s illuminating free will.
The courtship took twice two decades combined
And ended in what was forever forbidden our kind.
Now I can call you “husband,” though I still prefer
Plain old “boyfriend.”
The taxi to City Hall, Jane in tow
Gladly to lend
Her name as witness, turned the learning curve
Field trips depend
On to dramatize the legal status quo.
Some message sent?
Ape the straights? Act the challenger?
In fact, the pact was sealed in the invisible ink
Love uses to describe what it wants us to think.
Wedging the ring back into its familiar rut
Of glossy skin
At the bottom of my bloated, mottled finger,
Why take off what took so long to put
On to begin
With? To note at heart a hollow that lingers?
It is to gaze again in gratitude at the clear-cut
Possibilities encircled in its stronghold.
It is to see our human contract signed in gold.
Original appearance in the Times Literary Supplement.