Sanctuary, the back porch.
Screens out bloodsuckers, stingers, flies
and the S chair—a wonder of the world—
a mother's cradle fit to cuddle my creaky joints.
 
My wife's house plants drink sunlight lustfully.
Weeks ago, my black thumb packed down cherry pits
in fertile soil in a ceramic pot. On the sill, they R.I.P.
 
Hard to read A Sun Shines in My Chest
as Madeline, on a sheet several feet away
props herself up, arches her back,
squiggles towards me drooling, squealing,
gurgling, gumming a teething ring
not quite crawling—like someone
numbed waist down, inching closer
with hands and elbows until
 
book aside, we lock eye currents
as invisible love streams back
and forth as she beckons me to
enfold her in my veiny hands
 
and I cannot resist.


© by Peter Venable.
Used here with the author's permission.