Jumping the Broomstick

ELIZA, 1820

 

“What’s the matter, Eliza?”

Master Drake asks.

“Our Dave isn’t good enough

for you to marry?”

He’s younger than I like,

only nineteen,

and skinny too;

but with that wheel,

he can turn out a jar

faster than I can wash it.

He’s kind too,

except on rare occasions,

when he drinks.

 

I put on my dress,

blue as the sky,

with white dots like cotton

ripe in the fields.

Dave is standing there

in black pants

and white shirt.

We jump the broomstick,

and the minister says

we’ll be together

“till death or distance

do you part.”

 

“Sweet Eliza,”

Dave whispers.

He kisses me

on the cheek,

and I take his hand.