William Blake Brown: Porch Rocker

She sits in her front porch rocker watching
the shadows deepen and the street lamps
flicker on one by one. It is mid-April,
but the breeze caressing the wind chimes
carries a reminder of March, and she fetches
her worn denim jacket from inside. She drops
a chamomile tea bag into a cup and presses
the lever on the electric kettle. In evening
the porch is a sanctuary where her memories
glow as brightly as the street lamps.
“We had some good times, didn’t we?” she says
to the empty rocking chair beside her. At last
the darkness is complete, and she goes in
to find that the kettle has snapped off,
and the water in it is cold. Continue reading “William Blake Brown: Porch Rocker”

Phillip Periman: At the Lake

summers at the lake we sat and watched
the birds dip over the water and waited

occasionally I allowed myself a thought
what would it be like to walk on water

would I need a special type of footwear
should I take my clothes off without sunblock

nothing ever came of those musings except
the times you put your arm on my shoulder

those were the days when I believed myself
to be loved and all the world hung together

now it is winter and I am alone without you
where you are and on whose shoulder your arm

remains as much a mystery as then when
I wondered how you could love a pup like me

today the lake is bitter cold solid white
I stare straight ahead and imagine a bird

flying across the water in search of food left
next to the ice fisherman’s hut in the center

of the frozen lake where the ice is a foot thick
I realize now how easy it is to walk on water Continue reading “Phillip Periman: At the Lake”