Summer of Red Rockers

Glimpsed: a flash, a red

rocker: at

Red Right Return.

A woman: touched it, tipped it

forth, then back. How dare?

Each day on the sidewalk, the red

rocker at just that turn.

Old, but rescued by red,

alone.

Saturday of expectations: friends

to share some lobsters. I

made bold to stop

at red.

“I didn’t use primer,” she said, “I wanted

to see the grain raise. And I wove

the seat. For you — a third off.”

My own

touch to it, assessment

of rock, of rough-curved

wood on walk.

The seat: taut line, lashed

through drilled holes, tight

woven to last.

Heft to the pickup. She added, “Now

I don’t have to carry it

inside each night.”

Home with rescued red to a space

that rescued a dying house. Rough wood

to floor: and sure, and smooth, that rock

that carried slowly toward the sun

between two weathered arms

a rescued owner.

— Frances Huggard Migliaccio

2012

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s