Simple Things

I love this chair.
It is a lovely chair.
In love I am
with my chair.

I love its molded
seat, its finely
turned cabriole legs,
its scrolled backrest.

I love my chair.
It sustains me
in my sorrow,
buoys up my joy.

It tells me when
my body needs to
move; its firmness
keeps me active.

My chair stays present;
it knows not
to hide when news
flares or babies cry.

I love this chair.
A constant in my life.
Its blue hues
soothe me,

inviting my memory
to rise and honor
others with great
chairs in history—

Lincoln, Roosevelt,
Whistler’s mother—
now there is a great chair—
it rocks.

My chair though,
sits still for me,
and I, not famous
nor profound, am grateful.


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