When It’s Late
I turn on the porch light,
tuck regret away where
memory cannot reach.
Watch the moon arc
the screened window
as song birds yield to tree frogs.
When it’s late
and night sounds dim,
I linger in that half-awake state where
things undone tug
to the beat of fan blades.
I remember when we slept
under stars and night creatures crept
beyond the circle of firelight.
~
Pamela Gibbs Hirschler is a native Kentuckian who was born in Paducah, grew up in Hazard, and currently lives in Frankfort. Her poetry has appeared in Kudzu, The Heartland Review, and in the anthology Her Limestone Bones. She holds a B.A. in English from Morehead State University and an MFA in Poetry from Drew University in Madison, New Jersey.
~
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