For the past year, I’ve been writing a book on elopement.

Writing a book doesn’t quite seem like the correct phrase. I feel like I’ve been collecting a book on elopement—piecing together inspirational poems, quotes, pictures, and ideas. I’m driven to help others see the magic in their own hands, and the beauty in simplicity.

When I started this collection, I could have never guessed what its audience would grow to become—a world amidst a global pandemic—people trying to find space for normal life occasions such as engagement and marriage within the new “normal” of social distancing and business closings.

COVID has messed a few things up, but your wedding need not be one of them.

My book is on the brink of ready—soon! In the meantime, this is the poem that I want the world to have. Please share with whoever needs to hear:

~

I Hope Somebody has Told You

I hope somebody has told you

That the marriage was never made official by an officiant

That the walls of the church were ordained by the man

Who grew up in the field

Where the 7 p.m. sun bounced copper off the autumn wheat

And that was his first god.

I hope somebody has told you

That the vows you write

When you sit down with anxiety, and excitement, and discomfort,

Will be just the salve

That your love needs to hear

When he searches within your eyes, asking in every way except by tongue,

“Will you follow through with your words?

Really?”

I hope somebody has told you

That the guests never came for the steak or salmon option.

That groceries handpicked at the supermarket

Gain the power of intimacy

When prepared by the cracked, overwashed hands you love

And that the sound of your own champagne popping in the kitchen

Will stay in your ears

Far longer than the DJ’s announcement of a first dance.

I hope somebody has told you

That the post-vow dance party via Zoom

Yes—feels weird—but feels weird in a way that is shared

And then that weirdness starts to feel like silliness

Starts to feel like shared experience and resilience

And then feels like joy

And memories worth retelling.

I hope somebody has told you

That marriage is a promise—not a production

That magic is where you see it

That you are officially married after you’ve made your own promise

Paperwork be damned—file it later—nobody really cares when the world is on fire.

I hope somebody has told you

That the world needs the water of your love

And it’s imperative that you don’t wait

In fear

Eyes fixed to the flames for a sign of an end.

You can marry.

Magically.

Memorably.

Now.

Lift your gaze. It’s all here.

The woods. The ocean. The mountains. The copper field.

The patio where you looked at him for the first time

and saw your husband.

I hope somebody has told you.

~