On The Front Porch

Near Clarksdale, Mississippi


On the front porch they feel the night get cooler and watch the sun get dimmer. Someone is inside cooking. On the front porch two men sit in plastic chairs and look out towards the world and the people walking by. Not a lot of people. Only neighbors. Or maybe less like neighbors, more like family.

This city consists of only one street, tucked into a valley off the interstate. On the front porch at sunset the people sit and watch each other. Children play. Women gather and talk in front of the church. The sound of guitars and the smell of wet dirt. Big family dinners. Pass the collard greens. Pass the biscuits and the gravy. Then bring the extras next door. They don’t have anything shiny or expensive that I can see, but they have life and they have each other.


Big family dinners. Pass the collard greens. Pass the biscuits and gravy. Then bring the extras next door.


Not like us who eat in separate rooms and don’t know the names of our neighbors. In LA, we don’t sit on the front porch. We sit in front of the TV and we wonder why we feel so alone.


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