And Now, Some Good News by Tristan Tuttle

And Now, Some Good News

by Tristan Tuttle

a cardinal lands in the trumpet vine — he whistles / a dog wearing goggles sits atop a motorcycle at the gas station / in a tiny Irish cottage under a thatched roof, a woman serves hope in a cup to tired travelers / she may be an angel / back home, a trillium blooms.

I love this poem. Its brevity is part of its delight--list poems that go on too long just weary the reader, even when the list is as wonderful as in this poem.

The title, of course, immediately caught my attention when purusing the journal's table of contents (more on its publication at the end). I would be attracted to this title at any time, but right now, in 2025? Even more so.

The poem really isn't news at all, but that's where its strength lies. These are positives we can all relate to, find, experience, or imagine. They were positives years ago and will be positives years from now, no matter what is going on in the world.

There are only 4 items on the list here--a bird and a plant, a dog and a vehicle, a woman serving tea, and a flower. Listed here, they are not exciting, are they? Because in poetry, as in this poem, the specifics are (99% of the time) necessary to make the poem great.

cardinal/trumpet vine/whistles

goggled dog/motorcycle/gas station

thatched roof building/Ireland/woman/tired travelers

back home/trillium

"Back home" is not very specific, but I think that is intentional here. The poet is from Georgia, so she could mean Georgia. But by leaving it open, the reader gets to picture his/her/their home. And if trilliums are not a flower that grow wherever you call home, you can easily replace that image with honeysuckle or California poppy or morning glories.

Did you think I forgot the one non-list item? "she may be an angel" is so wonderful, in part because it is the only place where we are told something rather than having things described. And even the speaker is not telling us--she is throwing out the possibility. And even this is omething we have all experienced--after a rough day, someone gives us just what we need--a cup of tea, a hotel room key, a kiss hello, a big smile, a wonderful poem.

So are we all angels, at least to others that we serve perfectly? Is that what this speaker is saying? I like to think so, because that would indeed be good news.

This poem was published in Reverie, in their first issue (2023). Click here to see it there (and read other fine pieces!). I went to this journal in part because they recently accepted a poem of mine (not yet published). As I looked through many of the poems in that issue, all of which I enjoyed, I returned to this one for two reasons: I thought the title would attract readers and . . . an anecdote. I was leaving the Detroit area a few years ago. I was on the highway in my French blue Ford Focus station wagon (I loved that car!) in the left lane, natch, when a bunch (gang?) of fairly rough-looking guys on motorcycles came up behind me and to my side. One of the bikers, pulling up the rear as they passed, had a sidecar. And in that sidecar was a bulldog with goggles and a little leather helmet. It was one of the best things I have ever seen when traveling, and I have seen a lot of really cool things. Perhaps the poet, Tristan Tuttle, was farther up the road and stopped at a gas station when this man and his dog did. I'll never know, because I had to take a left exit shortly thereafter.