Expectations
A poem by Pamela R. Anderson-Bartholet

Expectations

Is there fog in Ohio?
The question startles me. I think: Isn’t there fog
everywhere? But, no. Fog is never certain.
Nor are rain or snow. Only wind
is truly dependable. It is everywhere. Brisk. Nimble.
Often cold but sometimes—in the desert or in August—
hot. It scatters trash into streets or billows leaves
into gutters. It snaps long hair into eyes and flicks baseball caps
away. When it comes to weather, everything else is
a maybe. A sometimes.

Fog in Ohio?
I don’t like to speculate. Yes. But not always.
Yes. But only in the morning when thistles of mist
hug the ground. Brooding. Lingering.
The one thing to remember is that sunshine burns it away.
Foggy mornings turn into blue sky days. Sky so blue
you could stitch it into a pair of pants. Sky so blue
it raises expectations. Only then—after the fog—
might we venture out to feed cracked corn
to wild geese. Watch the Great Blue Heron
as she fishes the pond with her long, sharp beak.
Imagine cardinals nestled in brush like tiny smoldering dragons.

All of these things are possible. But, again, not certain.
No promises. More of a warning. A cautionary tale
for children. Put on your boots. Where is your hat? Button your coat.
Small reminders that mean I love you.
You matter.
Don’t go into the fog without a hand to hold.

About the Author:

Pamela R. Anderson-Bartholet (Pam) is a traveler, blues music lover, yoga practitioner, and former (retired) public radio fundraiser. She is the author of three chapbooks, including Just the Girls: A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies; A Drift of Honeybees (Poetry Box) and Widow Maker (Finishing Line Press). She is a graduate of the NEOMFA program. Pam has never seen BayWatch,nor has she ever owned a red bathing suit.

@prandersonpoet

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