May Open Write Day 2 of 3

here in rural Georgia

on my front porch

on this drizzly Sunday morning

on the Johnson Funny Farm

with my coffee

and banana protein shake

I sit in my nightgown

and a pair of flip flops

hair in a clip

computer in my lap

listening

hearing

feeling

crying inside

what has been home

is changing

what has brought comfort

is falling

in sickening thuds

what has brought deep peace

is disappearing

by the log-truck load

birdwatching

here

is almost over

what remains

is perhaps

five more mornings

and my heart is sick

grieving with loss

for my birds

and their nests

and their eggs

and their choir

but this morning

those in trees

still standing sing like

all those Whos in Whoville

in the absence of place or thing

not knowing their tree

is next

today’s song is in joy of overcoming

others are

singing their goodbyes

one by one they’ve come

to the single row of pines

closest to the porch

and perched

like a last hug at the airport

said farewell

and flown off

no luggage in hand

to the next life

my tears here on this porch

don’t stop

won’t stop

how do I live in the absence of

morning birdsong

deep in the woods?