April Interlude/Poem #3: Neighborhood Fences

A neighbor begrudges
morning its constancy,
the days flying in her face
with a welcome she cannot bear,
robins disturbing with their
disregard and communal joy.
Light is a magnifying glass
that makes everything more daunting
with colors revealed in rich relief.

She slams the door as though
it’s meant to stay the darkness,
and yet it is carried on her shoulders
like some saddened, ill formed thing
she cannot live with nor imagine life without.

The night seems no more comfort:
tossing and stomping, grave voice
raised in discontent
to bring down perhaps an enemy.
There seems no pause, no
rest from wrestling which
mars the sacred silence of dreaming.

And yet there is nothing to be done for it.
I’ve reached and still the look she wears
is aggrieved, anger that will not
loosen all she has bound.
The door is slammed
and she is done.

There are few fences here, made only
to distinguish yours from mine
or embellish spots of land
but this is teeth clamped against
the very dance of air.
I’ve prayed the wall could be brought down
to see this other side
where daytime thrives and evening
spreads its ease.
Such abundance can be shared
among us, city dwellers all,
but fists are closed doors.
There is no room for more.