Porch Swing in September

Ted Kooser

The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun
that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion
whose flowers have faded, like those of summer,
and a small brown spider has hung out her web
on a line between porch post and chain
so that no one may swing without breaking it.
She is saying itís time that the swinging were done with,
time that the creaking and pinging and popping
that sang through the ceiling were past,
time now for the soft vibrations of moths,
the wasp tapping each board for an entrance,
the cool dewdrops to brush from her work
every morning, one world at a time.
From Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985, by Ted Kooser, © 2005. Reprinted with permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.

Poems by This Author

A Happy Birthday by Ted Kooser
This evening, I sat by an
Dishwater by Ted Kooser
Slap of the screen door, flat knock
Flying at Night by Ted Kooser
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations
Untitled [Each time I go outside] by Ted Kooser and Jim Harrison
Each time I go outside

Further Reading

Related Poems
Camp of No Return
by James Tate