The front porch was once a gathering place for the women in my family. There we’d unwind on its rocking chairs or floated on its swing.

Sometimes we’d sew. Sometimes we’d sing. Sometimes we all snapped green beans.

It was there we’d watch fireflies when the sun went down. It was there on its steps we ate watermelon. It was there the wooden boards creaked under our feet with tales of the past and what was to be.

THE FRONT PORCH is gone. The women are too. And its screen door no longer swings.

But in my heart, those women I knew, their stories are now part of me.