Poems

From Afar

Walking by an unfamiliar part of my old neighborhood.

Seeing  the screen door of a brown house with a steep lodge-like roof

And the white empty Victorian chair.

They are waiting for the warm house in me.

Remembering  the tiny crawl-in log cabins

Something rustic and playful.

People spending time on their porches,

talking, enjoying their porch.

It felt together, slow

with the unkempt dry weedy lawn

and the brown chipped paint on the wall.

An enclave of homes on a dirt road,

kids owning the street,

blurring the property lines.

I could almost taste the barbecue,

the tricycle dust, the ice-cream truck bells,

I could almost taste it from afar.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s