Porch

 

I love porches. They are architects of hope.

Lifted.

Waiting.

Restful.

Welcoming.

I have owned porches with a partner in the past. Perfect porches littered with backpacks, bikes, skateboards, fairy dust.

I rent now.

Porches are mothers.

Permanent.

Shelter.

Safely lighting the way home. Always.

This morning I am sitting on mine. Alone. Coffee. Dog. Birds. Rain. Los Angeles.

Barely thinking about the absence of my mother or my job of mothering in this life I still live in title only. I welcome myself home. Motherless. Fearless.

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