‘Likes”

Norma Tucker 

 

 

 

Sam posted a photo on that October day 

just warm enough and cool enough

to turn off the night’s heating and take a walk 

to soak the sunshine into our pores 

to hear the crunch of fallen leaves

step by step under the bluest of skies 

not a cloud in sight.

 

I took a photo of the azure sky 

above the tree tops

 bearing leaves

 in autumn’s rich hues

 orange, red, yellow.

 

Across the river

Sam, too, looked upward

snapped a photo

displayed contrast 

that same blue sky and a leafless tree

with large heavy gray boughs

creating a crook wherein nestled

what I thought a squirrel, gray.

 

Two immediate “likes” 

one focused on the munching squirrel

calling it a tree rat

while I “liked”

the “bluest of blue skies.”

 

There is something more herein 

 Putting these words together

 the likes of three  

on both sides of the river 

that day.

  

 

(10/27/22)

SEPTEMBER IS WHEN

       Bill wrote to me from his home in the woods of Maine to wish me Happy Birthday. He was leaving for Paris. He wrote, "I'll give your regards." I thought that phrase was for Broadway in New York City, but I love that's the way he thinks of me.

Sue, nearby in Virginia sent me a box of chocolate Oreos covered in more chocolate with nuts and sprinkles. I finished them in two days. She knows I love dark chocolate, and these were. Anyway, there really weren't that many.

Pat in Idaho sent me a yellow pottery pitcher. It gurgles. I've kept the paper insertion in which the designer explains the science and mathematics of the gurgle - the angle of tilt to pour the right amount of water. I wonder his other colors. I'm glad for mine. I love the color yellow.

My local family arranged a celebratory dinner at the country-style French restaurant in Chevy Chase. For dessert, we ordered two soufflés, one chocolate, one Grand Marnier. We passed each around the table savoring tastes. I opened the very big, beautifully wrapped box behind my chair filled with the bedspread and shams they knew I liked and wanted. Light weighted quilted with a soft blue-gray, white pattern. I felt it's shield and the love surrounding me. That may sound trite, but I know it's true.

  

THE WEEK OF

Norma Tucker 

 

 

 

 The week began with the celebration of two holidays on the same day, Sunday, June 19, 2022 – Fathers’ Day and Juneteenth. The first a longtime tradition and the second in its second year of recognition, here in the United States of America. Then began the events of the working week, events that day to day discredits the word, “united.” There is nothing united when a former president, his family and aides are investigated for tricking a significant percentage of the populace to believe he won an election that he numerically, lost. These believers include many of our nation’s lawmakers 

 

There is nothing united about a country whose Supreme Court nullifies the 108 years of a New York state law restricting who can carry a concealed gun. A law supported by eight out of ten New Yorkers. 

 

There is nothing united about a country whose Supreme Court nullifies a long-standing law that provides women the right to abortion. According to THE WASHINGTON POST’s June 24, 2022 online article, fifty-eight percent of the populace support the right to abortion while only twenty-eight percent were not supportive.  

 

As each of these events occurred on different days of the same week, as each was duly reported I, along with the majorities in the state of New York and across the 50 states felt a myriad of emotions of despair. And with each event, my despair deepened. I sought solace. 

 

 I turned to a poem. A poem that magically or intentionally appeared on my Facebook page. A poem by Mary Oliver, titled:

 

“MYSTERIES, YES”

 

I quote below the last lines of the second stanza: 

 

“How people come from delight or the

Scars of damage.

To the comfort of a poem.”

 

I return to reading this poem several times a day. I found no other comfort. Maybe next week.