This entry is part 58 of 63 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2011


“…I’d just like
to put my head on the pillow
while the storm still rages, and rest.”
~ Richard Jones


They say it’s quiet in the lull
of a storm, in the heart of chaos.
There are pockets of air in the dead
center of a piece of moldy bread;
and a shiny speck of copper where
rust and oil have not worn down
the coin. There are at least two
spaces between the gecko’s calls
—enough time for an engine
to sputter to life, for flame
to spurt out of the match; for
the faltering wheel to right it-
self, as it goes down the path.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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