In my mother’s living room
Has always sat
A wooden rocking chair
Not the old rickety kind
That have been loved on
And lived in
On grandmother’s farmhouse porch
But the kind that has been
Sanded, polished, and climate controlled
This chair has wide arms
And a tall arching back
Its finish is smooth
The natural beauty of the wood
Highlighted by its stain
I have always loved this wooden rocking chair
Many mornings my mom would rock
Accompanied by a cup of coffee
Many afternoons I would howl
As my arms became stuck in the slats while rough-housing
Many evenings mom read stories
Or rocked sick children
It is hard not to feel comforted
Wrapped in mom’s arms
And the arms of the rocking chair
In hindsight now
I can see her sacrifices
Not all of them
For they certainly could not all be counted
But that rocking chair
Has been around as long as I have
And I’m sure it knows
And remembers
Long nights spent with my mother
(Maybe one day it will know of mine as well
And maybe we’ll spend our own long nights together
And maybe it will tell me of time well spent with my mother)
I’m not too attached to things
But I am attached to memories
And the comfort of nostalgia
I’m not too attached to things
But there are days that come
Where
All I want
Is that wooden rocking chair
And some rest