Sitting at Night on the Front Porch
I’m here, on the dark porch, restyled in my mother’s chair.
10:45 and no moon.
Below the house, car lights
Swing down, on the canyon floor, to the sea.
In this they resemble us,
Dropping like match flames through the great void
Under our feet.
In this they resemble her, burning and disappearing.
And I’m here, sizing the dark, saving my mother’s seat.
From China Trace. Copyright © 1977 by Charles Wright. Courtesy of Charles Wright and Wesleyan University Press.