Slice of Life: #52Stories, 3/52: Porches

A porch is such a simple word
to contain so many memories.
 


















A little girl standing in her Sunday best 
on a Tulsa porch just barely remembered.
Playing jacks with Dortha on hot summer days,
cool concrete caressing our sweaty legs.
Carol and I sitting on the porch steps, 
savoring bowls of homemade banana ice cream,
listening to the shenanigans
of Dad and Uncle Alvin telling story after story. 
Our first home, our firstborn, Blake, and 
Grandma and Grandpa Behnke
swinging in the porch swing,  
getting acquainted with their new grandson.
A blessed afternoon on the porch 
when Lance rolled our new video camera,
Mom telling the story 
of receiving the letter notifying her
that Dad (missing-in-action during WWII) 
was alive. 
Backdrop to Mom's story is Blake's 
calling-down-the-pipe tunes and needing the 
occasional comfort of his mother's lap .
An afternoon spent on Crystal's porch, 
cousins playing in the yard,
on the swing set, and in the sandbox.
Sara carrying as many kittens
as her arms will hold.
Jack and Grandma watching raindrops fall 
from the front porch,
darting in and out of the gentle Seattle rain, 
laughing and smiling with each encounter.
We need more porches.
We need more time
for sitting and listening,
for making memories,
and remembering.