Poetry Sunday: They Sit Together on the Porch

It is November. The year is winding down. Time to think about...time. About the passage of time. And about growing old together. No one does that better than Wendell Berry.

They Sit Together on the Porch

They sit together on the porch, the dark
Almost fallen, the house behind them dark.
Their supper done with, they have washed and dried
The dishes–only two plates now, two glasses,
Two knives, two forks, two spoons–small work for two.
She sits with her hands folded in her lap,
At rest. He smokes his pipe. They do not speak,
And when they speak at last it is to say
What each one knows the other knows. They have
One mind between them, now, that finally
For all its knowing will not exactly know
Which one goes first through the dark doorway, bidding
Goodnight, and which sits on a while alone.


  1. It seems I end every conversation -- on blogs and talking with friends -- with the comment, "Where did the time go?" The poem could be me and my love with 'one mind between us.' I'm of that age, though he is younger. Just glad I'm not sitting on the porch alone. P. x


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