She gathered all her new friends on the porch
and served them lemonade in the chilled glasses
with little lemon prints behind the water beads.
The branches nearby clicked in the wind.
The women laughed like men remembering
the way they used to live before their children
took them over and made them different, longer
at night, tuned to the randomness of human breathing.
They shared breaks, compared the meaning of names.
They faded in the dark. Moved to wine served in flutes
with stems like the long notes of an oboe. Someone
mentioned how olive vines could slowly consume the sun.
Another asked is the world real beyond this porch.
Soon they wondered if their hostess would ever return.
