Sophia Orr

FROM THE BACK PORCH

1
the bathing suit hangs
limp black selkie skin

amid the honeysuckle

already yellowing
into sweetness

2
the grill huddles
age-blackened mollusk

a resentful creature that’s been dredged up
to pout here in a quiet corner

3
espresso has left me
helpless as Natalie’s limping black bicycle

which rests its bent shoulder
against the back shed like a drunk

unable to locate the exit

4
the wild daisies turn
their heads bemusedly upwards

the garden’s grown hectic
since my grandfather’s death

a Pollock-like profusion of vines
and brambles

5
from this distance the noise
of the breakers and the occasional jeep

blend into one perpetual hush
the sound my great grandmother made

as I lay fevered
her hand, against my back, a gull’s wing

—from Rattle #24, Winter 2004