Today's poem is by Marg Walker

Still Life with Front Porch and Yellow Sky
       

We resemble the day, limp
with August heat. Above the street
elm leaves droop. My mother rocks
in the green wicker chair.

Already I've outgrown my hand-me-down
shorts. My bare legs stick to the porch floor
where I pick at the chipped paint.

A car slides by, low-slung. We look up.
There go the Stevensons she says,
the first words spoken.

My mother fans herself
with the hem of her apron.

I wonder where they're all going.
I wonder, even packed in like that,
if the kids are lonely.

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Copyright © 2024 Marg Walker All rights reserved
from Ponder Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission