Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The Porch

the porch
reclining on the green swing
listening to my grandma
sitting in her rocking chair
hands always moving, working,
peeling apples, stringing beans, telling tales

eloping with my grandpa
leaving her brother Thomas and her mama to milk the cows
feeling guilty still after all these years
always talking about her baby boy, my daddy,
making mischief with green persimmons and firecrackers.


  1. I really like this poem. I just felt like I was sitting on the swing with you and listening to you talk.

  2. You crafted your words brilliantly. I was on the porch listening along with you. Love the stories passed down to us.