Pause for Peace: At Albany Bulb with Elaine
by Alison Lutterman
A Midweek Pause for Peace. I’m having a lot of fun pairing one of the wonderful poems I’ve been curating for decades with one of my photos—pairing my latest hobby, photography, with my oldest love, words.
The result? A little something for your heart and nervous system every Wednesday.
I remember when Alison Luterman first posted this poem on Facebook. It was such a gift to me the day I first read it. Her words brought joy at a very dark moment. I’ve posted it once before, but wanted to bring it back today.
And so, I’m thrilled to pass her poem on to you today. We all need this kind of friendship and laughter right now.
At Albany Bulb with Elaine
by Alison Luterman
Side by side on a log by the bay.
Sunlight. Unleashed dogs,
prancing through surf, almost exploding
out of their skins with perfect happiness.
Dogs who don't know about fired park rangers,
or canceled health research, or tariff wars,
or the suicide hotline for veterans getting defunded,
or or or. We've listed horror upon horror
to each other for weeks now, and it does no good,
so instead I tell her how I held a two-day old baby
in my arms, inhaling him like a fresh-baked loaf of bread,
then watched as a sneeze erupted through his body
like a tiny volcano. It was the look of pure
astonishment on his face, as if he were Adam
in the garden of Eden making his debut achoo,
as if it were the first sneeze that ever blew,
that got me. She tells me how her dog
once farted so loudly he startled himself
and fell off the bed where he'd been lolling,
and then the two of us start to laugh so hard
we almost fall off our own log. And this
is our resistance for today; remembering
original innocence. And they can't
take it away from us, though they ban
our very existence, though they slash
our rights to ribbons, we will have
our mirth and our birthright gladness.
Long after every unsold Tesla
has vaporized, and earth has closed over
even the names of these temporary tyrants,
somewhere some women like us
will be sitting side by side, facing the water,
telling human stories and laughing still.
Alison Luterman is a poet, essayist and playwright. Her books include the poetry collections In the Time of Great Fires (Catamaran Press), Desire Zoo (Tia Chucha Press), The Largest Possible Life (Cleveland State University Press) See How We Almost Fly (Pearl Editions), and a collection of essays, Feral City (SheBooks). Luterman's plays include Saying Kaddish With My Sister, Hot Water, Glitter and Spew, Oasis, Touched, and the musicals, The Chain (with composer Loren Linnard), The Shyest Witch (with composer Richard Jennings, and song cycle We Are Not Afraid of the Dark (with composer Sheela Ramesh). You can find her at: https://www.alisonluterman.net/
laughed out loud - what a pleasure - really appreciated this poem - thank you so much!
I really needed this today. Wonderful poem by Alison, set at the Albany bulb, a place on the bay where we walk our dog frequently. The same dog has been laid up for three weeks after a hip surgery went sideways. The last couple of days, I have felt like a big rock is sitting on my chest. Both worry and sorrow. But this poem reminds me of her romping in the surf and of how precious my women friends are now, when the world is falling apart.