‘The Porch’ by Christine Kelley

I was premature. Born yellowish,
butterfly kicking forward, already
homesick when they snapped the cord.

They placed me in the sun to bake
beneath the maples on their new porch
where I could speak to the trees with cries

and hear myself attempt forest sounds.
My first language: shhhhh-ahhh-shhheeee.
Wind teaching a child to listen

to suburban alienation.
Each caterpillar inching on my skin
was a friend to gather, greet;

each cardinal was a scarlet blur
of echoing skylight, calling me back
from the harsh kick of a car engine.

My ears were tuned to the patter of rain
on the porch boards, lullabies from my grandma.
She and I sang to hummingbird whirs,

to the swish of a grey-squirrel tail.
We were small together in this home place,
content with our brief niche of time.

From issue #6: spring/summer 2018

About the Author
Christine Kelley is originally from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. She is currently living in Belfast while finishing up a Master’s in Poetry at Queen’s University, where she was a recipient of the Seamus Heaney Centre scholarship. She also holds a Master’s in Literature from Villanova University. Christine loves birdwatching and knitting.