My home has blue uneven shutters
a sparkling stained glass Cross is on a pane of glass next to a Roman font “Jesus Saves” poster
the façade of the second level is a rustic crimpled pink
low-cost metal bars cover the windows on the first floor
keeping me in
keeping everyone out
The neighbors to my right and left are gone
they moved away months ago
leaving me noise-less, smell-less
hello-less
When Mr. Ludlow moved away
he gave me his window flower boxes with
trumpeting petunias perfect pink, valor violet and patriotic red
he went to an assisted living apartment
“no plants allowed”
he said
I said goodbye to Mrs. Shallow
she held Lucy close to her tear streaked cheek
to smell the freshly licked calico fur coat
before going to live with her daughter
“no cats allowed”
she said
The wistful trumpets play limp music
during the long sweaty summer day
before the sun scrapes its way across the humid sky
into the languid night
Lucy spew sorrowful me-yowls
living in the middle
Mrs. Shallow’s scent avails in a corner with books and magazines
Lucy affectionately weaves
through my legs
into the placid night
Lucy washes her settled paws
living in the middle.
Cynthia Hibbler is the proud mother of two engaged daughters and a wonderful husband. Her poetry has appeared in two additions of the New Voices, an Ivy Tech Community College yearly journal and the Oldtimers’ Grapevine, a Disciples of Christ Newsletter.