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”
[su_panel background=”#f2f2f2″ color=”#000000″ border=”0px none #ffffff” shadow=”0px 0px 0px #ffffff”]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)