The roses along the fence braid and buckle, and family gathers near
beneath the hum of back porch ceiling fans to make the sounds of story.
Vibrato, laughter, long pauses for the fountain waters to echo through.
There’s a surgery today – the patriarch’s heart reworked
and not one of us afraid, but rather we hold ourselves up against the light
like thin pearly vases, cracked, still filled,
fragile as morning,