One Poem by Ann Weil

511 Frances Street

At Curry Lane and Frances Street
A chartreuse bungalow sits
Behind a white picket fence,
Bougainvillea branches arching overhead.
Gate swings on rusty hinges
Its song plaintive yet welcoming.
Bags dropped at the old porch door
Key in lock, I am home.

Like an impatient child with an advent calendar,
I open all windows at once.
Gentle breezes rustle palm fronds
Twilight crickets chirp.
Dusk wears the perfume of plumeria and jasmine.
I feel my skin come alive again
In the dew-drenched air.
I breathe in renewal,
Restoration, replenishment.

In this place of sanctuary,
Where my feet are not bound by the rule of gravity,
I am most joyously, deeply, rooted.


Ann Weil is a retired teacher whose poetry can be read in forthcoming issues of Young Ravens Literary Review, Lucky Jefferson, and Amethyst Review. She divides her time between Ann Arbor, Michigan and Key West, Florida.

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