Waiting for Atticus

You'll never know
how long I've watched you
as you pass my house at dusk.
You sweep your children up
into your arms
and disappear inside.
I dream as
your scent lingers, faint as
lacy curtains turning in the breeze:
an August day's honest sweat,
Old Spice, talcum and starched shirt.
You comfort me;
we cuddle in your rocking chair at night,
my strong oak and I.
Though I know you put your gun away in youth
you're still a shooter
sharp enough to kill a rabid dog, single shot.
Take another risk, my love.
Let's give them all some gossip.
Walk into my shoes
and crawl into my very skin.
Maycomb is a slow, hot town and
I've got lots of time.

(c) Christy Lumm     2009