The Porch
The porch,
Columns of trees, holding the wainscoting ceiling for years;
Reflects his strength.
Wind now rips the bark from their bodies;
As illness wore away his vigor.
Tongue and grove floor laid lovingly,
painstakingly fitting it to the round bark wall-boards;
Mirroring the patience of guiding his children’s lives.
Freeze and thaw, warps and splinters the boards away from the wall;
Strong children move out on their own.
Wine barrel table and chairs,
Seats now weathered, torn and uncomfortable;
The consummate host - his family and friends leave with
laughter and peace.
His aura lingered for a long time –
Sometimes, even now.
Yet once in a while –
As time, like the wind stealing small pieces –
It feels like the porch never was –
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