“Girl, all I ever wanted to do was let go: stumble, grumbling, drunk on my own juices. Spread my thighs two nations wide. It’s funny how popular you get when your business is falling all over yourself, when your schtick is snatching rattles, wallets, cameras, whatever’s around,” Niagara Falls hisses one night, when I find myself in town. “Now, my name is known by newlyweds and bachelors alike, my sloth is franchised, recklessness advertised as entertainment. Put a penny in my mouth and I’ll grind a souvenir version out – American, Canadian, whichever currency is handy – so randy you’ll need to wear a raincoat when you come near.”
I know a true hedonist when I hear one, but I can’t relate. Born of beings who, too, never knew embarrassment, bacchanal-bred in a house full of guns and confetti, I grew to be the cleaner-upper, morning husher of embers hot in the fireplace all night. I don’t know what nonchalance feels like, those lazylays on scenic horizons. I’m always on guard, a connoisseur of armor, at the perfect temperature in an airtight container. I wear mosquito netting to the grocery store, don’t open the door for anyone short of the police or Elvis, don’t collect the mail without wearing a barrel, don’t pummel, don’t know how it feels to be pummeled. I shy from precipices, hazards brash and shiny. You know, every fall begins with curiosity.
Every undoing begins with intrigue: ask the boxcar jumper, the organ-grinder, the ice cream truck driver, those who’ve watched a soggy decade spring from a weekend fling. I’m comfortable on dry land, don’t need to throw my heart into a lake to know the splash it would make. I’ll never court brute force, can’t imagine managing a violence so safe that people come in droves to let lick their children’s faces, so steady it seems quaint. I will never spawn such bawdy superfluity, such abandon, enough to power a city.
Interview With the Monument was first published in Litro, November 18, 2022
Jessica Manack holds degrees from Hollins University and lives with her family in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her writing has recently appeared in Maudlin House, Five South and Peregrine. She is a recipient of a 2022 Curious Creators Grant.
Table Rock, Niagara by Edward Ruggles, 1867. Image courtesy of the Library of Congress
ALL hail to thee, Niagara ! Monarch thou,
Before whose echoing thunders, every sound
Shrinks tearfully away ! The pilgrim heart
Bowing in deepest homage at thy shrine,
Trembles, and sinks in fear ! The admiring eye,
Pressed by thy startling grandeur, droops in tears :
And the frail lyre that would its sweetest strains
Invoke unto thy praise, alas ! grows dumb.
Bright as the stars ! thy mantle : and thy crown,
The circling bow wherewith He spans the heavens.
And thy cloud-shadowed feet, even stand as once
At Israel’s tent, thy glorious Maker’s stood :
Of whose great majesty and power sublime,
His hand hath formed thee evermore to speak !
Source: Wood. M. Elva. Songs of the Noon and Night. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1866
Source: Kelsey, Richard. Niagara, Jephthah : Remarks Upon the Defence of Wessex by Alfred the Great, With Other Compositions in Verse and Prose. London: Brewster and West, 1848
Ice Bridge at Niagara Falls, In Memory of Mr. and Mrs. Stanton and Burrell Hecock
‘Twas on a Sabbath morning,
From distant homes they strayed,
To see our old Niagara
In her mantle of white arrayed.
And with Jack Frost’s protection,
The tourists thought how grand
To be on the noted ice bridge
Anywhere to stand.
But the strength of Frost was feeble,
Compared with mighty force
Of the rushing undercurrent
Unchanging in its course.
For soon the ice was parted
And, alas! too quickly was seen
People on glassy islands
Floating down the stream.
And there was Mrs. Stanton
Just paralyzed with fear,
Saying to her husband
Let us die right here.
Poem Accompanying the Memorial Card
Near by a brave young laddie,
Who was running his life to save,
Heard the call: “Come back and help us
To escape a watery grave.”
And as he thus responded
To try and save another
He said to his companion:
“Don’t you tell my mother.”
But a message of mental telepathy
To that mother quickly flashed,
While ropes were dangling here and there
And the cruel waters splashed.
For she saw in a glass of water
Ice and people, too,
Rushing about confusedly,
Knowing not what to do.
Then she thought of the treacherous river,
That water so fierce and wild,
And exclaimed: “I have a presentiment
Something has happened to my child!”
Brave men worked hard to save
The two who still remained
On that block of ice much smaller
Than when it first was framed.
For, Oh, they were surrounded
By Niagara’s silvery crest,
Which none were allowed to step on:
Not even a noted guest.
Kneeling in prayer they were ushered,
The time was very brief,
Until the Whirlpool caught them
And gave them sweet relief.
Image and insert containing the poem by Jessie Clark courtesy of Niagara Falls Museums, accession number 2024.016.29. Many thanks to Assistant Curator Sara Byers for bringing this to my attention.