Meditating on the Porch
Monday, across the ground
On which my veiled eyes did not focus,
Walked a cat. Tuesday, I waited for it.
Tuesday, I smelled bacon. Wednesday,
Catless, I wondered what everyone was having
For breakfast. Wednesday, my neighbor’s air conditioner
Rattled to a halt, leaving only
The bird calls, unveiled.
Thursday, catless, hungry,
I hoped for the quiet. Thursday, I felt the rain.
Friday, so many chances
To practice letting go.
Although arriving at a sun-warmed spot on the wood floor
My cold feet sigh, “home,” kinhin pushes on, however
Slowly. Nothing can stay.
They couldn’t have picked a better guy
For blowing up, the one who was always awake
To the delusion of groundedness.
For him the foundation was no foundation.
There is a certain rightness
In the statues of the man who disappeared
Disappearing. If there is rightness.
All the doors stand wide. At each,
A painter. Breezes and the soft sound of brushes
whisper through the house. No one
Can enter or leave.
Judith Ferster, who has published poetry in the Georgia Review and the New Arts Review, teaches and writes about medieval literature and freshman writing at North Carolina State University.