No-nonsense chair, it solidly graces
The kitchen-hearth corner, cushioned, prepared
For heavy or lightweight to try pacing
It's movement of hypnotic rock, shared
By centuries now of differing sized hands.
It glows with polish, asthmatically groans
When abused, but some carpenter planned
This object of strength. Time-capsule, honed
By soothed memory, embedded there by
Stories unfolded while rocking. Moments
Soporificly sped. Plans quietly vyed
With family security and found pent
Up in this chair. Stroke it and feel vibrant
Lives striving for betterment, realized
Hopes all float here in distressed wood, dyed
In somnolent rhythm so greatly prized.
Phantom faces flicker in it's depth, will
They share more secrets if I sit still?
Fay Slimm
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rocker-s-tale/
