I place my ear against the glass,
cicadas chirr in sorghum rows—
a sidewind moves the brittle grass,
a dust cloud lifts above the road
until the headlights burn it thin.
An engine labors up the grade,
gravel snaps the chassis skin—
axles creak, then comes the frame,
then wheels align outside the yard.
A hinge resists, a door gives way.
A strip of yellow splits the dark;
the porch receives a stranger’s face
becoming mother with each step:
I fold into her long blue dress