Views From the Porch
Suburbia sprawls around the front porch.
Shy deer peep out of front windows
then whisk out of sight.
The groundhog is delivering news of the day,
he thumps his paws, morse coding headlines
only to run back
into his one bedroom apartment under
the roof of his green hideaway.
I could be shelling peas or whittling a piece of wood
with a Buck knife, should be rocking back and forth
on an old hickory rocker
but here in suburbia such things
are recalled
through peepholes in narrowing horizons.
This morning I aim my seeking mind
at the house chipmunk,
who for a while
rests in the morning sunlight;
all night he has been chiseling away
at the concrete step,
perhaps tunnelling out of here into a wilderness
he has never seen.
We all must find a new story for old paths,
why not here in the heart of these urban tracts
where strips of green
imagine wide open spaces?
We were born to travel here and there
every day a new frontier.
This place can be an uncharted map also
snugged as it is into a small glow globe
of back and front yard denizens
a glass that if shaken
reveals new backwoods views.
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