when you ask me if we'll marry

It’s that time of year

the sky can’t make

up its mind.

You get it all

in a single moment:

the splash of

bracing rain;

the soothing of the snow

before the gales; combined

as splitting pellets

when the air decides to

drop a meager degree;

then my oscillating talk—

from our bond to

the crash of stocks,

as though they were

the same,

as if the elements

are conjoined, a dual-

headed Orthrus

double the drool,

its hounding for

a verdict:

choosing who is chaff

and who is cherished,

a rubbing of my chin to

buy some time—

like Solomon in his court,

his summoning of a blade,

some sword that cuts to the

pith of love & woe.

Andreas Gripp

December 27, 2025

Painting: The Judgement of Solomon by Luca Giordano