on the back porch a woman

Lynn Finger

at the neighbor’s house party 
sits at ease, silky dress stenciled 
from Chagall. 
Winter wanes like a long ash from an old cigar, & a bird 
as big as a phoenix or swan 
sings in the oak that has 
one of those rope swings 
with a tire. 

We are scattered Mardi Gras 
glitter. She says, have 
you ever felt 
like crossing the Atlantic in a multihull? No. 
But if I did, it would be to meet the whales. 

All of them, particularly the humpback. Their fins are unique, 
like fingerprints in people. 
Good to know, she says. 
I nod. 
We are silent on the step. 

Fireflies blink in rhythm 
to the beat 
in the house. They already know 
who they are.

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Lynn Finger’s poetry has appeared in Ekphrastic Review, 8Poems, Perhappened, Twin Pies, Book of Matches, Drunk Monkeys and is forthcoming in Wrongdoing Magazine. Lynn is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group that mentors writers in prison. Follow Lynn on Twitter @sweetfirefly2.

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