“It’s Tuesday tomorrow. Just write something down,” I tell myself. I had already opened up a blank page in my blog and was waiting for inspiration to strike.

But it wasn’t.

And just as I start to write down my thought, trying the trick of getting something, anything, on the page, I notice a message over to the side:

Um, yeah, I know that. That’s kind of the problem actually. And what’s with the two exclamation points, one of them highlighted in red!? That seems a bit over the top. I haven’t been sitting here for that long.

I sit back and stare at the screen. What is going on here? I wonder if I wait around for a bit longer, if another message will appear. Maybe a more helpful one. Maybe my computer will suggest a writing idea, like: “Try writing about visiting the beach today and how you watched the seals cavorting off shore.” (I think cavorting is the type of word that would appeal to this computer. It already strikes me as a pompous, somewhat judgmental and overexcitable sort–I mean, really. Two exclamation points!?!) Or maybe it would suggest “Write about the new restaurant you tried today and how you and your husband shamelessly eavesdropped on the adjacent table.” (There’s that judgy side again.)

I wait. Neither inspiration nor a random computer message strikes.

The minutes continue to pass and nothing happens. Apparently, that initial message is the sum total of my feedback. I feel a bit disgruntled. I mean, if my computer is going to start communicating with me, is going to send a message, at least it should make it worthwhile! Unfortunately, this computer apparently has nothing else to say. It only wants to point out the problem, not offer a solution. There’s always a critic, right?

Well, I know one way to take care of that. I lean forward and click on the “x” in the corner of the message. It disappears. Hmmm, that feels better.

I settle in to write.

Parking was tight and the line ran out the door. I’ve been voting here for 11 years and had never seen a line like this. As I waited, I looked around me and listened in on conversations. I looked around at my fellow voters. “Who are you voting for?” I wondered. I found myself hoping, wishing. I looked at clothing, facial expressions, anything, trying to glean the intent of each voter. Who were all these people? What vision did they hold for our country?

The line moved forward slowly. Occasionally, I chatted with the people around me. We talked about the line, the weather, the temperature in the room. For a few minutes, we discussed the new rank choice voting system and how that worked. We slid in and out of inconsequential conversations.

“I wonder if those are for people who forgot their reading glasses,” the woman in front of me commented, gesturing to the “check in” table. On the corner by the ballots were a couple of pairs of glasses.

“I hope so,” she continued, “because I forgot mine.”

As we watched, a recent voter submitted their ballot, then walked over and set a pair of glasses back on the table before exiting.

“Oh, they are,” she said, clearly relieved.

Something about those glasses spoke to me. I wondered if having reading glasses available was routine at polling places, but suspected it was a small town gesture. They were a touch of humanity that cut through the tension of this day, of this moment. I’d joked several times recently that my ballot would sizzle when I submitted it, as I am desperately concerned about the current state of our political system. But those glasses…

Two pairs of glasses just sitting on a counter. Ready and willing to help anyone. No matter who they were voting for. No matter what vision they had for the country. Addressing a common frailty.  They cut through all of the vitriol and turmoil to connect us. Behind them was a person who saw a need and addressed it, calmly and quietly. Without fanfare.

I’m not sure what will happen with this election, but I do know that I’ll think about those glasses again. I’ll remember them–two pairs of glasses sitting there, on the edge of the table, available to anyone who might need them.

I’m thankful for those glasses.

I grabbed my small “traveling” notebook out of my purse on a recent morning, intent on jotting down some thoughts about the glowing horizon and the full moon peeking through the trees, silvering the landscape. After scribbling down my disconnected thoughts, I idly flipped through a few pages and stopped at this old entry:

5-13-17

ululating
Sammy!
1st grad? relief?
petite woman
up on seats–piercing whistle
colors-pageantry
shaking U-Maine T-shirt

What was this? I wondered. When was this?  1st grad or was it 1st grade? Who’s Sammy? I looked again at the date, hoping it would help me place these words in some sort of context.

5-13-17

Ok, I reasoned, it must have been first grad, not first grade, because that’s the date when Addie graduated. I slipped back between the words, rereading them, slowly trying to shake a dim memory loose. I read the words again and again.

Finally, bit by bit, I remembered.

We sat on the hard bleacher seating, watching the graduating class finally enter the arena to a swell of triumphant music and thunderous applause. Suddenly, a woman’s ululation rose strong and piercing about the cacophony of the crowd, like a warrior’s triumphant cry, followed by an ear-shattering, heartfelt cry, “Sammy!”

I turned to look, and saw her, a petite woman, standing on her arena seat.  In her hands she held a U Maine T-shirt and shook it vigorously, over and over, high above her head. Dropping one hand to her mouth, she then let loose with a penetrating whistle, hawk-like, shrill and rising clear and high above the crowd’s noise. I couldn’t see her face or the shirt clearly from where I sat, but I could feel her raw emotion. The moment captured me. I grabbed my notebook and wrote down these few words:

5-13-17

ululating
Sammy!
1st grad? relief?
petite woman
up on seats–piercing whistle
colors-pageantry
shaking U-Maine T-shirt

Now I remember how I had wondered at the vibrant intensity of those calls. Was the unknown Sammy the first graduate in the family? Or was she deeply relieved to see her struggling child graduate? Was she even his mother? A variety of scenarios had run through my mind, fueled by the rippling waves of that sonic boom of emotion.

Now that I remember, I feel anew the impact of that ululating cry and the “Sammy!” that followed it. I hear it echo in my mind. If not for having jotted in my traveling journal, I never would have thought about it again.

With school in full swing and planning, conferences, grading, etc. eroding my free time, I am more grateful than ever for the on-line writing communities that inspire me and nudge me to keep on writing. So often another poet’s work sparks an idea or introduces me to a new form.  Often there’s a weekly challenge posed or an interesting prompt shared. Recently, Linda Mitchell has used a couple of my photos as prompts for her poems  (here and here). This reminded me that this is something I can do as well! Thanks, Linda!

Regular challenges are also an inspiration.  Michelle Heidenrich Barnes pairs up with interviewed poets to offer monthly challenges on her blog, Today’s Little Ditty. This month Calef Brown invited writers to create poems with two anthropomorphized objects interacting in some way. I was delighted when Michelle shared my effort on her blog earlier this week. I thought I’d share it here, as well.

KITCHEN GAMES

“Hey! Try to catch us if you can!”
they squeal, then run away
Broom dashes after valiantly
with sweeping, swashing sway

Broom’s mission is to seek Crumbs out
Their mission is to hide
beneath the fridge, behind the chair
and then to multiply

“Come on out, you scurvy creatures!
Get off our pristine floors!
We’ll sweep you to oblivion!”
her swishing bristles chorus

As they scurry ‘neath the counter
Crumbs tumble, bumble, jump
Broom pokes them out of corners, then
she piles them in a clump

She entreats her ally, Dustbin
to help her end the chase
together they corral the Crumbs
and put them in their place

A quick trip to waiting Trashcan
winds up the evening fun
Now at rest in closet corner
Broom smiles, her job is done

But later, Trashcan sneaks a glance
at dozing Bin and Broom
then slyly hiccups giggling Crumbs
and strews them cross the room

© 2018 Molly Hogan

Thanks to everyone for sharing their thoughts, their poems, and their feedback. Poetry Friday is a bright spot in my days and I’m so grateful to be a part of this community!

This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Kay McGriff at her blog, A Journey Through the Pages. If you get a chance, check out her previous posts. Last week’s was a lovely tribute to her daughter–so sweet and nostalgic– and the week before she shared a nature-inspired Zeno. Thanks for hosting, Kay!