Indian Style


Our porch, in the front –
the porch near roses,
near metal milk crates
and above colored slate
from Vermont – is where
she sits – Indian Style,
on top of pieces of
wood, warped, and
grey paint peeling

the porch near two
doors leading too
two families in the
city, on a corner lot
in a city filled with
children who played,
played – as she watched –
the porch where she
smiled when a friend
walked by –

sitting Indian Style. . .
she smiled once more –
another friend walked
by – near the hedges
lining the property,
she saw her friend’s feet
touch cement, her head
looked straight ahead –

legs crossed Indian
style on the porch
where fingers picked
at pieces of wood
covered in grey paint,
a smile on her face
a stray tear rolled
down her face,
caught the edges of
her lips, where a
smile – remained. . .

scooting over to the
right, toward the
metal milk box,
she opened the lid
and there – inside
where paper dolls
were stored inside,
she saw her friends
smile back.

Nancy Duci Denofio

(c) 2010 all rights reserved

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Angie's Diary