It is good
by richard luftig

in summer to listen
for the screen door
that never shuts
with a single bang
but a bang-and-a quarter
when it takes its bounce,

and in autumn
if you can pause
on the front steps
long enough to have
the wind bring the first,
fallen leaves to your face.

In winter, it is good
to hear the scrape
of the snow shovel outside
on the cement walkway,
the water running in the kitchen,
then the soup on the stove,

the air filling with spiced
smells that we remember
like a returning friend.
But it is best in those first
unsure mornings of spring
when mockingbirds try out

their newest songs while
we lie side by side
breath to breath recalling
when we were young and so
full of passion that our
hearts wept for the world.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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