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Porch Swing in September
by 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 it’s 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.

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Equinox

September

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