My Friends These Days

My friends these days are

the cardinal on the fencepost

trespassing spikes of hibiscus, hopeful and defiant

microwaved coffee on languid mornings, my bare feet against cold patio stone

the heavy-sweet smell of fermenting leaves

squirrels bickering in the old oak’s upper branches

a copper jester and a white-gloved sneak, jockeying for position, winding through my legs

the whir and slap of the treadmill, sweat dotting my hairline

constellations of sparrows sheltering in the hedgerow

crisp words on cream pages

early evening light coating the treetops in a viscous saffron

and slices of moon rising in the east, steadfast, gentle

But I still leave the light on and the back gate unlocked

— An original poem by Kate Block