A wide white painted porch swing
a place for memories to take wing.
It's worn weathered paint chipping in spots,
to sit and

Her vista, on an aging front porch,
pans a broadening horizon;
sun creeping up, yellowing her eyes,
Mama doesn't see the skies.

Brilliant,

Sitting on the front porch
After the sun goes down
Takes me back to my childhood
With no one else around

Watching the lightning

brownie was granny's dog that bit my lip
for invading his space in his face on that porch
laying by the big old rocker with

Alzheimer's

Peeling paint and flower pots
the wicker chair so old
it's barely there.

You sit and rock and watch
as neighbors