that pair of weather-worn chairs on the front porch, kept at right angles for conversation, wait for what won’t happen   two butts snuggling to a stop two drinks raised to lips, that would take the time to talk about the world as it wanders by   they’d follow the lives of birds, squirrels, leaves and shadows, knew the sounds of dogs and children and to whom they belonged smelled flowers they knew and didn’t   a place where folks would sit and burrow into life, theirs’, others

just when I think my words are sailing along smoothly, lovingly, sometimes even with wit   my clear navigation gets sloppy, my mouth runs into a hidden rock or a sudden storm hits   and what I speak is harsh or hurtful, knocks a hole in my ship and as it fills with regret   I notice I can’t sink fast enough

for so much of my youth I was wildly happy, deliriously blissfull, ignorant and free   it was 6 th grade phys. ed. class when I saw the naked chest and arms of our gym teacher   I remember tracing with my eyes, so carefully, all the curves, when a deep stirring, a peculiar feeling shivered to the surface   it scared me, I pulled back, horrified this new hunger would show on my face and everyone would know   I knew then I had a secret I must hide I knew the mirror knew, so no