A summer’s afternoon
stamped with golden dust
cicadas played a last hurrah
a chipped blue mug
full of sweet ice tea
that was all
a lowly swing
and a wooden chair
on a porch neath my feet
of splintered wood
that creaked
indelible memories
the blue mug is still full
stained on my heart
with fingerprints








I am impressed with the picture you painted with these words.
I am a big fan of porches, porch chairs, hammocks etc.
I can imagine a lot. Who sat there last, why?
who will lie on the hammock next?
I have memories that make me do this imagining…and this poem brings up many of those memories.
j.
Thank you