Porch sitting

Wood Storks Close Up

I practice the art of porch sitting,
with my exposed heart outside my ribs
while black banded wood storks
glide to arboreal landings.

The folding of their wings catches me
tucks me into their bird-boned bodies,
integrates me to feathers.

Wind shifts, branches quaver.
A bird startles. Releases
me into the humid, fecund air.

I gentle down into my rocker,
as my heart beats from the exertion.

Release

Mourning Doves by Flickr User Goingslo

My bicycle wheels turn.
Roll away stress.
Soft evening. Moist breezes
Blow from the ocean across
Rivers and creeks.

Magnolia and gardenia.
incense in this chapel
cleanse my mind.

Four mourning doves
waddle in the sandy gravel.
As they fly, they voice
a plaintive song,
beat their wings,
call to mind my son.

He never could pronounce
Dub. His childhood lexicon
comprises our family vocabulary.
Speaks to my heart
as I spin into the
reason I went riding.
To release the family
that will not be.

Photo credit: flicker creative commons user Goingslo