I claim this spot
By Paula Glover

Little rickety green chair and table
Outside the front door;
The door used by guests – the door with no key.

I’m outside in my nightie –
Morning tea.
Turkey hunters drive by down the lane
I dash inside.

That will give them something to talk about.

Now that I live here
my odd stuff claims the table.

A potted ivy;
A little red-roofed mini-birdhouse
gift from an old lady friend long ago.
She kept chickens and I will keep chickens.
I reflect – am I getting old?
Small clay smiling sun –
meant to be hung on a wall,
but to hang it would be to imply permanence –
not ready for that yet.

Garden stepping stone (I can’t bear to step on)
so it is on the table
grandchildren’s hand prints imbedded.
My pounded tin garden snail
fully 18 inches tall and 2 feet long
still homeless, joins me at the table.

In the evenings I sit.
Goldfinches and cardinals and house sparrows visit
to squabble over the sunflowers in the feeder;
Barn cats emerge to torment the little white dog
a game of running just fast enough not to get caught.

Frogs sound out;
Cicadas start calling in the night;
Distant who-who-who announces a great horned owl.

Female hummingbird comes by
Stares at me.
I’ve taken the feeder inside for refilling.
OK, OK, I tell her
I’m going. Be right back.