Poetry: Front Porch Temple

A/N: This poem appears in the zine "The Politics of Shelter," produced by Brackish Daughters and available for purchase on Etsy.

Front Porch Temple

Call my front porch a temple,

yeah, a temple for the tired people,

the temple of the virgin priestess,

patron saint of lost soldiers and

lost dogs and lost imaginations.

Pull up a chair, painted green,

covered up oak and vintage rattan,

and join me in my open-air office.

We shall recite lines and smoke

cigarettes and gaze upon the scenery.

Time stops for me in this temple,

and for a while I can make it stop

for you too. I can make everything

better now, the consummate caretaker,

the one who sweeps out spiders

and cobwebs and other detritus

that clings to your mind, your soul,

I can turn the outside lights on

in the evening, like a revelation

shining on all your darkest corners.

Lay it at my feet like an offering.

I will sort it into folders, organized

and alphabetized, we all need this,

and do not know how to ask for it

but I know what you cannot explain.