from the front porch

from the front porch

it is the hottest hot of summer
and just now dusk
with a breath of lightning bugs

across the street
Mike-who-kills-cowbirds
and Mrs. H. who never speaks
talk over
the last seventy-five years

I watch the bloody moon
brush my teeth
a shadow
in the church-pew dark

Line 1-  I wonder about dropping:  It is. . .  and hold the rest.
Line 3- a breath or a flicker?  What are you getting from them?  Breath is a pretty word to me but vague.
I love:  Mike-who-kills-cowbirds
Mrs H. works for me
I love that talks over and who never speaks are close together
Struggling with 3rd stanza. 3 images:  a moon brushing my teeth.  Not sure. Do you need brushing my teeth? That takes me away to another place.  May just be me.
Blood moon and church-pew dark.  I don't guess I know how dark church-pew dark is.  Is it black?  
I wonder if you are listening to their memories or is it mumbly? Are you in the church-pew dark?  
You take me there easily.  I have watched and heard intimate things from a front porch before.  Echoes. Great title.

Stanzas one and two read well, please my eye and the title is fitting.
lightning bugs?  Here on the left coast we call them fireflies.

I need some help on that last stanza... I'm confused.
Extract the teeth...
Whisper might serve better than shadow...
Church-pew dark would be a great line in another poem.

You always entertain me with brevity and power.
Dewell

(Where is that Alexander Guy?  I miss his critiques.)

I'm still thinking about that phrase.  
Karen, does it mean "I don't get what is said in church sometimes."
It sticks with me.  I like the rubbing together of two unusual words.

Karen

If I break the last stanza, maybe you can see more clearly its repair:

I brush my teeth
watch the bloody moon
I, a shadow,
in the church-pew dark

Interesting that the persona is darker than dark in the place of light.  Good fun here.

Todd

I so value the friendship of this forum.  As I read what each of us has written to the other, I appreciate the honesty and care in our responses.

Dewell, thank you for whisper.

Pat, thank you for loving never speaks and talk over as I do.

Todd, thank you for tuning into my church-pew dark, the crux and crucible.  It is my literal observation point and refuge, the uncomfortable straight-back bench where I soak my soul.

If only the prayers it held before it knew me could strengthen mine.

You are precious.  Thank you.

Like you, I value each one who helps me become a better poet.

Pat