from a city porch

There is a certain perspective from a city porch,

beneath vines that terry along intersecting lines.

One of peace

Away from the automobiles.

Worn corners, paint chipped wood, efficient spaces 

all leading to hidden back passages...

where the milk man used to come

 where the kids still run.

Upon the buckling and folding, the slipping and sliding of boards and banisters:

A child briskly leaps down to the bus

A teenager swaggers with feigned indifference

pausing,

at the pillar for composure.

A couple silently shuffles in nostalgic sway

within the soft pink light of waning day.

A harbor shelters, in crystalline simplicity,

life before my city door.

Rozlynn Jakes-Johnson