Lucky

This is my time
to sit on the cold slab
of my concrete porch,
sipping my blackest
coffee. I hold
to the shadows
and watch coyote stalk
my neighbor’s yard,
staying clear
of the streetlight 
glazing the asphalt 
in blue.
I never planned
to come here, never sought 
so much room, 
never aspired
to this sleepy street
stretching over the hill,
these ancient oaks
spreading their whispery wings
above my house.
You’re lucky, I say to myself, 
to have so much.
And Lucky, I think to myself,
to still be asking,
Who am I? What am I?
knowing all I really have
is my treasure box
of four-letter words—
soul, love, duty, work—
and this moment
when the day’s first sparrow
lands at my feeder.

PAUL TELLES

Paul Telles is a former journalist and lifelong reader of poetry who thinks retirement is a self-funded writing fellowship. His poems have appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Book of Matches, Inflectionist Review, BoomerLitMag, and other publications. He received his MFA from Pacific University in January 2024. Many of his best friends are children and trees.