Because she asked, I altered this photo for Rose Hunter, a poet who lives in Mexico every chance she gets. Beneath the surface is my photo from this blog’s header. The horses come from her. Lately she’s swapped photos for her words.
I learn that the man who signs my paychecks was once a little boy with a matchbook collection. He tells me this while showing me lost-until-now photos of his father from the 1920s. I ask, how does it make you feel to see these photos of your father for the first time? He says it made him remember his matchbook collection that blew away when the door to his family’s storage trailer was left unlocked one winter years ago.
My cell phone rings – a friend calling  about his first night on the job managing a 24 hour call center, a job he had never wanted to accept. I’m braced to hear complaints about calming angry customers, but instead — this: The lady from Ohio ordering a meat processor and three extra blades  at 2:35 a. m. gave birth to a baby while talking to him on the phone. He called 911 in her home town, stayed on the phone and reminded her to breathe. He got to hear the baby cry. It was a healthy baby boy.
A friend I’ve not seen for some weeks sends an email today. Did she want to talk, I query. Instead of replying she tells me about standing in a field of snow, shouting at the sky. The night was dark, the moon was gone. This is what it must feel like, she writes, to stand on the corner of 4th and Exposition  holding a cardboard sign: Anything Would Help.

About redmitten

author of Cracking Geodes Open, Making Good Use of August, and The Peppermint Bottle. poetry editor for IthacaLit. website: https://toomuchaugust.wordpress.com

10 responses to “>sans

  1. >Anything WOULD help. And I'm so glad your friend was on the phone to help with the birth!

  2. >I feel like crying today…crying for healthy baby boys and cardboard signs.

  3. >Most awesome horses, Sherry! Thanks again. :)Now, how come nothing like that ever happened when I worked at a call centre? First night!

  4. >i like to think that all the time we think we are in charge…there is some other undercurrent connecting each of us. the lesson i need to learn showed up in someone else's phone call.

  5. >Gorgeous photo.A few nights ago I was out walking my dog. It was about midnight. A twenty-something woman passed by wearing a backpack; it was snowing. A little ways down the street, she crossed over just as I was gazing up at the starry sky, and she suddenly screamed out: " Just tell me what to do with my life, Please, God, just tell me what to do!" I haven't told anyone about this until right now.

  6. >Random, wonderful moments.

  7. >I had to re read all of these…captivating stuff! Especially the last one…I thought at first I read she was standing at the corner of ..'4th and Explosion." Hmmm…could be something there…Did the meat processor salesman get the baby named after him?!

  8. >The patchwork of separate lives and random moments that can become our teachers…how beautifully you have expressed them. After first, of course, recognizing them for what they are.

  9. >Thank you for gathering this collection of human moments, and sharing them with us. I was astonished reading about the woman having her baby as she called to order the meat processor, and happy to read your friend was there to help. Equally, I'm happy reading you were able to help your friend who e-mailed; I'm sure your sincere response was the help that she needed. Mary's comment reminds me of a woman my husband and I never understood exactly what was going on, many, many years ago, when we were on a vacation up the coast. She was driving in the green space by the side of the road, speeding, and barely missing mailboxes, as if she didn't care if she hit one. She finally stopped, pulling into a convenience store parking lot, a desperate look on her face, and we stopped, too, to ask her if she needed any help. She shook her head, no, and drove on. To this day, I'm hoping the fact that someone noticed her distress helped her to get through it.

  10. >i'm so late to responding. i so appreciate hearing from each of you! annie, yes isn't that something how we carry those moments with us even after all these years.

and then you said:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 51 other followers

%d bloggers like this: