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On Her Porch

ON HER PORCH, she rocks after dinner, and flurries of stardust sprinkle her sterling. Inside, the dog, snug on the still-warm Eames, shudders with dream and, in the tub, her prince of a husband soaks, swirls of pipe smoke crowning his damp, curly mane. She rocks, and nostalgia reigns over night beneath moonlight. Breathless, alit with old flame, she goes back inside and is struck by the sight of his majesty’s limp curls, white — not that bewitching black in the locket of this once starry-eyed girl.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014




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