your hand inside this
absence. The half-set table, knife, cup,
saucer. Lunch is suspended,
undone. The chair, moved, for
some purpose, has not been returned
to its place. From the nine-paned window,
the cold sun slants in. Outside,
on the frozen grass,
beyond the sentinel fencepost,
a splintered log. Here,
the plain white plate,
cold to the touch,
lifts up its porcelain hope.
By Faith Paulsen
Faith Paulsen grew up in the house featured in the baby shower scene of the movie Trainwreck. She composed the song “A Heartful of Memories” performed at her 6th grade graduation. The Marion-to-Bermuda Yacht Race awards a trophy named after Commodore Faith Paulsen. Unfortunately that is a different Faith Paulsen. Faith has been a technical writer, travel writer, freelance writer and in the insurance industry to support her family and expensive and selfish writing habit. All along, she has always been a poet at heart. She and her husband have three sons on three different continents. Faith’s poetry and prose have appeared in philly.com, Apiary, Wild River Review, Literary Mama, Blast Furnace, When Women Waken, cahoodaloodaling, Moon and others. She is delighted to be included in Front Porch. You are invited to read more at faithpaulsen.com. (She snatched the domain name before the other Faith Paulsen.) Her email address: