On a Tuesday

My dad called Tuesdays, "Goodnewsday" after the Gershwin song with the line. "Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day." It must have been my favorite song when I was twelve as he took up the theme thereafter. He wrote letters to me on Tuesdays faithfully for decades. So what I remember about 9/11 is that it was a Tuesday. I was volunteering in the children's section of the Durham Public Library, Revere Road Branch. I liked thumbing through the books quickly as I put them on display or away. There is something magical about children's books--the freedom, the alternative worlds, the improbabilities, the magnificent art. The head librarian came over to me and asked, "Is your brother in New York by any chance?" Yes, for once my brother was in New York. Ordinarily, he could have been in Ireland or Spain, Italy or Germany. He led the life of a visionary artist. I relied on sibling telepathy to know where he was. Every year or so a fabulous postcard would drift in with gorgeous foreign stamps. She asked me if I'd like to go home. Hesitantly, she explained, "There has been..." She couldn't get the words out. A catastrophe in New York involving the Twin Towers. It was the time of the morning my brother would have been walking over there for a muffin from his studio on Duane Street. I said quietly that my brother would expect me to stay with my work and not worry about him. So I stayed, I didn't hear from him till the next day. Meanwhile, I had a message from my son in San Francisco. There had been rumors at Luxor Cab of terrorists around the Transamerica building. He told me a story which will stay with me always. He said there was a cabbie from Vietnam who wore some kind of good luck medal around his neck. On 9/12, he came to do his shift but didn't have his medal. Erik asked what had happened to it. The cabbie said, "I don't need it. I got you, Ewik." In times of trouble, there are those on whom we can depend to get us through. I depended on my faith, my angels, and trust that whatever the outcome, I should do what I was assigned to do and help would be on the way. That was 2001 and I can't enumerate the helpers I have had--so many! These days, my gentle brother thrives with an exhibit in Germany. My son rises through the ranks and keeps everyone's spirits up; he's a natural. And I? I continue with my thank-you's and my assignments and yes, sneak a few glimpses at children's books, my little affirmations.

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ANGELS GUARD

the mountains,

although we no longer give them credit.

Their fanning, lowing wings gently shift

the snow to higher elevations.

Their nodding sighing comments

on our customary pace stir the fat

pine cones to drop.

We gather them for decoration,

heedless of a better purpose.

In very quiet moments, still-hopeful angels

tap our shoulders in greeting.

"We're here

if only you will stop awhile to look.

Long before the dinosaur,

we knew of your coming.

We could tell you how the earth was made!"

It takes a fine-tuned adjustment to

our vision which we have scant time for,

not being inclined to believe,

to see the silver shadows.

Over eons they take up their vigils

at newly-formed crags and river forks.

They discuss metaphysics and cry a little

over the nature of Man.

Brave, good-hearted angels.

They await redemption

more heartily than we,

having known what Paradise was like

that time or two ago.

--CT

published in BRANCHES

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...may you find succor wherever you go and the path lead you

past the narrow places to wide plains...