the porch was a dream of family
where a photo dissolved
into feet. my brother & i are astronauts
in our own rights. the surface
of our father's face: a swing set
or a moon. we are naked
on the porch & it's pouring outside.
july with all july's yellow silk scarves.
rain smacking the earth
like a cantaloupe. everything is
getting round in the heat.
i am most nostalgic for moments
where i was a rubber ball
& the pavement gnawed on the ankles
of a grey sky. here comes
a grandfather throat to slide down.
who is going to roll the stove
down the hill where the creek
is waiting for bread?
my brother & i with amphibial hands
open as if to catch a fish
in the down pour. open as if
a cloud might come down
to perch on our wrists.
fresh curtains of rain across
our lips. rain so ripe it purples
in the air. porch all around like
a dictionary-- spewing potential words
into our bones. i try to shout to him
through the deluge but all the speach
slips to water. we are talking water
on the porch. a screen door
hinges in us but never
opens. metal & yawn.
we could have walked out into
that thrall & become
two green leaves-- shaking
& pearled with rain. instead
we stayed human somehow
& the porch ached with our teeth.
exchanging bones i was a boy
& i was a boy & he was a jupiter marble.
i took a photograph with my eyes
& it printed out my mouth.
salted blur. our mother's finger print.
blushing pink porch.
pink rain. pink summer.
pink boyhood. a frog
skipping towards heaven.
porch folding chair: