WHAT WILL THE NEIGHBORS THINK?

What do the neighbors think when they see him sitting on the front step
turning gray, gaining weight, alone more often now, thinking too much,
drinking coffee, closing his eyes ,and opening his ears, breathing deeply?

What do the neighbors say when they see him crouch with his camera
on the front lawn, snapping photos of purple, yellow, striped crocuses.
Like the ones that popped up in his grandmother’s yard on Summit Avenue,
clustered accidentally in the corners of the yard by his white picket fence?

What do the neighbors see when he fills the bird feeders with seed and
stops to try and find the exact branch where the song is coming from or the
type of bird that is sharing his tune today when the sunshine rains down?

What do the neighbors wonder about him when he stops in his tracks to marvel
at the tiny buds forming on the extended tendrils of the forsythia bush?
Do they wonder when he’ll take down the Christmas lights, clean the gutters, find a rake?

What do the neighbors feel is happening when he smiles as he remembers the days?
Taking a bunch of yellow flowers wrapped in foil to first grade, how she taught
him how to say the plant’s name in order to impress the teacher, to show how smart
her boy was, how he came from a family who knew and loved plants, songbirds,
the warmth of the sun’s rays, green grass growing and the arrival of a new season.