Last updated on January 26th, 2019 at 04:54 am

Lest They Heal

we should guard our wounds
lest they heal
and we forget the lessons learned
from hurt

Night Whisper Sounds

in the evening hours on the front porch
preceded by a pause of deathly quiet
as the deep still rolls in like a fog

then the second awakening arrives
resurrection at the ending of day
the young darkness comes alive yet again

with the noises of night
alive yet again with cooing whispers
filtered sounds of people conversation

sing-song buzz of nocturnal  insect life
night whisper sounds from the second shift
secret rustlings at the very edge of light

Come Look

Hannah told me to “come look”
meaning the back porch
which was dark lit only by
the kitchen light through
the door and window

and she pointed to the window
the very top of the very window
which let out some of the kitchen light
“a bird” she said, and there it was for sure
precariously perched at the top

it took me a minute or two though
to make out the hunched over
fluffed up little thing that was
nearly invisible sitting on there
on the narrow top trim

the bird came three nights
three nights in a row
in the hot drought summer dark
and I felt privileged and protective
that we stood as a refuge

then no more
and we have not had
such a house guest ever again
either before or after
things come and go

things come and go
then no more
either before or after
so I am learning to appreciate
what is here before me now

an apprentice to life
still learning about
this feast set before me
especially a daughter
that will tell me “come look”

Mike Perkins is 55 years old and lives in Columbia, Missouri with his wife, four kids, two dogs, a rabbit, and one rat.  He started writing poetry about five years ago and has published over 60 poems.

photo courtesy cactusbeetroot (CC-BY-SA)