Sally the Seal
Introduction:
Driving to the psychic event in an old church—now a spiritual hub—proved an adventure. It was April Fool’s Day, and the cruel joke that morning was eight inches of slush greeting us at dawn.
Once there, my wife and I went downstairs, below the spiritual readings taking place in the old sanctuary. The space was packed with local artisans displaying their wares. After admiring a friend’s moss art, I drifted to a display of felt witch-hats. Breaking the ice, I joked that my son and daughter-in-law would adore the medieval creations. Grace laughed, recalling bygone renaissance fairs where she’d camped, selling whimsical goods.
On the table sat her stuffed creations—hedgehogs, she said, each unique. Then I spotted a lone gray seal near the back. Its soft fur would be perfect for our future grandbaby. My wife joined us at the table, and after that there was no more talk of hedgehogs. We bought the seal. It's whiskered face peeked out from the homemade cloth bag, delighting all our friends.
Soon it was time to leave. The old basement, a timeless space of weddings, funerals, and pot-lucks, thrived still. I cherish the moment as we set out with Sally.
Driving to the psychic event in an old church—now a spiritual hub—proved an adventure. It was April Fool’s Day, and the cruel joke that morning was eight inches of slush greeting us at dawn.
Once there, my wife and I went downstairs, below the spiritual readings taking place in the old sanctuary. The space was packed with local artisans displaying their wares. After admiring a friend’s moss art, I drifted to a display of felt witch-hats. Breaking the ice, I joked that my son and daughter-in-law would adore the medieval creations. Grace laughed, recalling bygone renaissance fairs where she’d camped, selling whimsical goods.
On the table sat her stuffed creations—hedgehogs, she said, each unique. Then I spotted a lone gray seal near the back. Its soft fur would be perfect for our future grandbaby. My wife joined us at the table, and after that there was no more talk of hedgehogs. We bought the seal. It's whiskered face peeked out from the homemade cloth bag, delighting all our friends.
Soon it was time to leave. The old basement, a timeless space of weddings, funerals, and pot-lucks, thrived still. I cherish the moment as we set out with Sally.
Sally the Seal
Seals are sleek and efficient at what they do,
and we’re lucky to have this one in our zoo.
The thick velour skin is nicely sewn.
with pretty glass eyes, shiny brown.
And, in the spot where a tag would have showed
is the mark of the last seam to be sewed.
They give the impression of a small scar;
the stitches are that of an expert doctor.
Sally smells nice and free of mold;
she's never suffocated in a cargo hold.
This seal has no obnoxious label of indication
of origin from an oppressive nation.
No sweat from the brow of a young loving mother
who in factory light sees her dreams smother.
Sally carries none of that baggage.
This seal is real!
She’s as real as Grace, with her table of felt.
The connection is real too, a connection heartfelt.
I hold Sally to my chest and pet the cloth skin,
she’s going to fit in just fine in this poetic den.
