Monday, May 31, 2010

Porch View

Fog in the mornings, hunger for clarity,
coffee and bread with sour plum jam.
Numbness of soul in placid neighborhoods.
Lives ticking on as if.
-- Adrienne Rich

I walk into my kitchen as soon as I wake up. Where else would I go? Coffee.

The sun reaches through the colored glass bottles in my window, telling me to open my patio door.

It is amazing how quickly plants can recover themselves after a few days in the sun.
My Jade plant stands tall, fat, and green. The hanging flowers grow wildly away from the brick wall, reaching towards the open air. Cardinals, bluejays, and little sparrows fly from tree to tree each morning, singing about the day to come.

Empty cans of PBR litter the parking lot below the Virginian.

Six old black men sit on the front patio holding cigarettes, newspapers, loose change.

A tall dark man walks across the downtown bridge. It is too hot for him to be wearing a maroon suit. His voice quivers loudly, and from far away I can hear him singing Leadbelly.

I don't mind living right next to the bridge. The sun rises over it each morning along with the mist from the fountain. The sunbeams, watery fog, and the sound of traffic greet me with bustling energy (encouragement).


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