Dear Dad, I surprised a fisherman this week
when I asked him what he was hoping to catch.
Trout, he said, at least I am wish.
His English was halting, but our smiles connected.
You taught me, that, Dad, how two strangers
can easily connect on a shore or a pier.
It takes so little, really. A small question
opens us to our common humanness and
can lead to easy warmth. Last night I was walking
alone in the dark and noticed a small,
strange glowing in the leaves. And there
on the road, another small glow.
Pulling out a flashlight, I discovered
the shine belonged to a black sluggish
beetle creature, such an unlikely source of light—
a creature I would never have noticed
had it not been night. How often
do I look at someone or something
else and fail to see their glow?
So today in the airport, I looked for it, and
found the glow in the face of the man who looked up
from his paper at 4:35 a.m. to toss me
a radiant grin. Saw it in the young girl
dancing giddy circles around her grandma.
Though it was dark out, how much light
in Concourse A did I miss, eager as I was to get
to my gate on time? Next time, another chance
to imagine the concourse is not so different
from the edge of a lake and our carry-on bags
not so different from tackle boxes. Who knows,
I might catch delight in line. At least,
as my new friend said, I am wish.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer