Fine Tuning

Fine Tuning 

    

When I was a young girl 

I had a transistor radio 

complete with a leatherette case. 

   

During the day, 

it received no reception, 

but at night 

I could hear one station, 

KOMA Oklahoma City, 

where I learned of places like 

Lincoln Nebraska and Boise Idaho, 

and I heard Petula Clark 

singing to God and the rest of us that 

we didn't need any more oceans 

or rivers or hills to climb.   

  

She was probably right.  

We don't seem to take care of 

the ones we have  

but  she assured us then, 

and I think she would say  

the same thing now, 

we only need more love.  

   

There in that West Texas darkness, 

trying to picture a Lincoln Nebraska or a Boise Idaho, 

and wondering how people got 

a Name like Petula in a world so full of Bettys, Charlies, and Sues, 

love did seem mostly full of static, but 

could sometimes with great clarity 

rush out over 

midwestern plains, mountains, rivers, and oceans 

when the air was just right.  

  

I thought love to be someone else's secret then, but now I 

know God does not stash love so far away.  

It is kept very close, 

like in a transistor radio with a leatherette case

sent to a lonely young girl who knew about wind and stars and silence, 

the sender and receiver both trying to tune into a mysterious world.  

    

                                                                                        - say 

                                                                                          September, 2006