Assent

Assent

-- for Chris

by Linda Hoffman Kimball

He climbs rocks

Gripping those lucky holds,

Improbable muscles flexing.

From the ridges of his finger prints

Dangles his (dear) life.

By those slim margins –

The who of him –

The precious hymn of him

Ascends,

Upheld by good ropes

and Grace.

My husband Chris has remarkable hands. They’re among the first things about him that I loved.

I began this poem just thinking about those hands. Then, probably to keep this something I was willing to post, I turned to thinking about how powerful his hands are when he climbs rock, or “faux rock” as is usually the case here in the flat Midwest. At least once a week he goes to the local athletic club and skitters up the rock climbing walls. For me rock climbing is terrifying, but I know how much he loves it. For him it’s vertical, physical chess. It’s a challenging merger of brain and brawn, of nuance, subtlety and raw strength.  I think of his climbing much as I do his journey of faith – trusting, adventurous, primal, complex, determined. The title is not a typo. It’s my thumbs up to him – to his love of rock climbing, to his gorgeous hands, to the whole of him.

He climbs rocks

Gripping those lucky holds,

Improbable muscles flexing.

He dangles from the ridges of his finger prints,

His identity holding on for

His (dear) life.

by a breath, by a brain, by a

He climbs rocks

Gripping those lucky holds,

Improbable muscles flexing.

From the ridges of his finger prints,

Dangles his (dear) life.

By those slim margins –

Upheld by Grace and good ropes,

He ascends.

Climb

He climbs rocks

Gripping those lucky holds,

Improbable muscles flexing.

From the ridges of his finger prints

Dangles his (dear) life.

By those slim margins –

The who of him –

The precious hymn of him ascends,

Upheld by good ropes

and Grace.