Fly Away Little Poem

​Secreting poems into unsuspecting places returns me to being an 8 year-old, when I was certain I'd marry actor Danny Kaye one day. Actually, this was a fight between my sister Nancy and I-- which of us would marry Danny. We also fought over who would marry dad, but my mom made it clear she wouldn't share. 
Danny Kaye had this magical quality in "Hans Christian Anderson"  that convinced me my role in life was to bring that kind of joy to the world. I knew early in life I was a storyteller and wanted to sing it from the rooftops. How I dreamed of being that kid in drama class who'd fling themselves center stage to belt out a solo and bring tears and laughter to an audience. 
Alas, I'm not that girl. Making poems for an audience of one to four people from behind a typewriter is as close to a public performance as I've gotten. But deep inside, I want the whole world to hear my song. So I tuck these little card poems in trees and fences around our island and hope I delight someone. 
As a kid I attended many Alcoholics Anonymous meetings with my mom and remember one pamphlet about doing secret good. I wish I could remember the actual title. What I do remember is the point was not to be caught so that you were doing a sweetness with no expectations. I suppose I'm not really doing that here since I'm telling you. 
Wanderlust seizes me strongest in spring, so I put a poem of that title at the airport. Our island is so small you can walk right beside the runway and listen to jets arrive and depart. One time I was leaving for the Mainland and during the acceleration of take-off I looked out the window to discover my husband speeding along the frontage road to race the plane in his red pick-up truck. I was waving like a crazy woman through the tiny window pane with my seatmates a bit concerned for my sanity.
The other poem is beneath Ironwood bark on my favorite beach where our short story book club meets and it's also where I walk my three dogs regularly. 
Thanks again for listening to my happy wanderings. I wish you a surprise; one that is totally unexpected and most importantly, deserved.

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