In the dusk of the spring equinox,
finally solitary,
she sits braced, bracketed by what could be
and what is.
A solid wall to her back, shadows where a line of trees loom in the yard.
A single yellow bulb at the end of the patio
anchors her, tethers her to the house
and its occupants.
The sound wafts through the walls–
the child, large for his age, golden from sitting in the yard,
nonverbal but communicating in hums,
pure emotion in place of words, but just as clear as if he said,
or could say, I am happy!
The low voice in response (bass line to the child’s chirp)
makes a spare melody and she smiles.
But she remains in the deepening night, motionless and listening
to what is and what could be,
a skirmish that hinges on accepting the terms of engagement.
Half light
is also half dark.
Juli Stricklan is a high school English teacher who currently lives in Las Cruces, New Mexico.