The mood is set
by red wine and fireflies.
And darkness
carrying a cool eastern breeze
that travelled here on the edges of
this morning’s thunderstorm,
with its raucous timpani.
I gawk at the silver-haired woman across the street,
who walks paced and steady.
She doesn’t notice me.
She listens to her digital book without headphones,
as she has every night this week,
inviting each resident on the block to hear her story.
“You do not have to listen but you will hear!”
scream her sweaty arms as they swing.
O, how I wish my soul were as willing
to demand such attention.
For, seated on a tuft of gray pillow
from my home’s front porch
I walk,
along the emotional causeway of my day.
listening alone
to my heart’s story.
