He prefers the flat wheat fields of Kansas.
His feet know how to climb up muddy strip pits,
a gift from Big Brutus. He knows which dirt roads lead
to buffalo, abandoned barns, a spot to pull over and touch.
But, he followed me here, to a rainforest suspension bridge
near the Miravalles Volcano in the heat of Costa Rica.
Here, he knew nothing. The wind blew. Mist from the waterfall
below whispered to our ankles and made the bridge,
his voice shake. Don’t look down. He gripped the rope.
I still love when he tells me things knowing I won’t listen.
I was meant to do this, to notice the way leaves sweep down river,
to feel the trees that stretch and bend to brush our arms.
Why did you marry me? he asked. Some of the smartest people
I know don’t have the answers to the simplest of questions.
Julie Ramon is an English instructor, specializing in English as a second language, at Pittsburg State University in Kansas and academic writing at Crowder College in Missouri. She graduated with an MFA from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. She lives in Joplin, Missouri, with her husband and son, with another baby on the way.