SANDELL MORSE, 2 P.M.
for Victoria Your favorite place is Scituate Pond, a place you go daily or nearly daily summers. I have never been to your favorite place, but you have shown me pictures of you wading, of your grandson, who is maybe six or seven, now, paddling a child’s kayak. I know you swim laps over and back, over and back. I imagine you floating your body buoyant, your eyes closed. Perhaps, you see colors or stars. Perhaps, you see nothing. Perhaps, you remember your Great Uncle Doc, the brilliant storyteller in your family. Because I know you, because you are my friend, I know you love stories. You love books. You love a painting your husband bought you. It is a painting by a friend, and you hung it in your kitchen where you see it and love it every day. Because I know you, I know you love your family, your husband, your children, your grandchildren, your blended family. Here is what I did not know about you: years ago you hitchhiked to work in Boston, two rides each way. “That was crazy,” you say. You also hitchhiked through Europe and Cape Cod where you met your first husband. He drove you back to the city. I assume that city was Boston. People who are racist, sexist, homophobic, people who believe lies or who won’t listen to facts make you angry. I surmise those kinds of folks have always made you angry. I hear you. You find peace sitting in sun that shines in your window, a good book in your lap. You also find peace on Scituate Pond where you swim and swim. If you could paint a picture of anything, you would paint Scituate Pond.
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