We are overdue for a poem, and I've had this one rattling around in the cue for so long I forgotten who sent it to me (my apologies).
Maybe I like this poem because it is too cold to go on our back porch. A poetic excursion to the porch will have to do until the world tilts and the warmth returns. Blessings on your day . . .
On the Back PorchPainting "Back Porch" by Mary Ogle.by Dorianne Laux
The cat calls for her dinner.
On the porch I bend and pour
brown soy stars into her bowl,
stroke her dark fur.
It's not quite night.
Pinpricks of light in the eastern sky.
Above my neighbor's roof, a transparent
moon, a pink rag of cloud.
Inside my house are those who love me.
My daughter dusts biscuit dough.
And there's a man who will lift my hair
in his hands, brush it
until it throws sparks.
Everything is just as I've left it.
Dinner simmers on the stove.
Glass bowls wait to be filled
with gold broth. Sprigs of parsley
on the cutting board.
I want to smell this rich soup, the air
around me going dark, as stars press
their simple shapes into the sky.
I want to stay on the back porch
while the world tilts
toward sleep, until what I love
misses me, and calls me in.