One Last January Birthday

Tomorrow, the last day of January, is the birthday of a very important person in my life, my husband. I found the poem that follows when I was on a mad hunt for readings for our wedding. I was not so keen on the whole idea, seeing as how I am a professional quote aficionado. Corinthians, Apache Blessings, Shakespeare's Love Sonnets... Yawn. I am so jaded. But our very wise and persuasive minister insisted that we draw out our wedding ceremony in order to savor it. Because, as he put it, the ceremony is not something that happens on the way to cocktail hour. It's actually the most important part of the big day. 

I read this poem by Barton Sutter, and immediately fell in love with it. (Come to think of it, it was not unlike how I felt when I first met my husband. I just knew it was perfectly right.) But I thought the poem was too weird, offbeat, or even inappropriate for the ceremony. With this preface, I read it to him anyway, as we drove across the Verrazano Bridge on the way to meet our minister. His question was, "Why can't we use it? It's perfect. It's us."  

Things like that–that's why he's the best. Nothing gets in his way. He's a poet, an Ironman, a b-baller, a cook, a spiritual advisor, a husband, a son, a brother, a great friend to many, and my best friend.

I love Your Crazy Bones

By Barton Sutter

Even your odds and ends.

I love your teeth, crazy bones,

Madcap knees and elbows.

Forearm and backhand

Hair makes you animal.

Rare among things.

The small of your back could pool rain

Into water a main might drink. Perfect,

From the whirlpools your fingers print

On everything you touch

To the moons on the nails of all ten toes

Rising and setting inside your shoes

Wherever you go.

Barton Sutter, “I Love Your Crazy Bones,” from Cedar Home.