Talking to Myself Thirty-Eight

    Naked Ladies/Tiger Lilies

Talking to Myself Thirty-Eight September 6, 2020

Summer is winding down. The naked

ladies have begun their rise as the air

cools. Some call them tiger lilies, but

I like naked ladies. They always 

surprise me. The zinnias hold their

own a few feet away, and some

determined cosmos. When you’re

eighty-three, you heal so slowly,

but my helpers confirm: I’m looking

better, I’m coming down the back

stairs with more ease and grace.

We’ve lost our heat index days.

I can work harder, longer. I rarely

fall. My body’s slow to heal, but

it does heal. My new book was

approved. And in the wider world

where it has become so hard to

hope, we have good news. The

big industrial polluters are being

slowed and even stopping. They

told us that all we have to do is

last one day longer, and we did.

In a pandemic it’s hard to believe

in any victory, any pause in 

pollution and devastation. Yet

quietly and without fanfare it

arrives, and the naked ladies

join in the zinnia chorus with its

pinks, oranges, multiple reds,

yellows and even greens.