Monday, April 27, 2009

The Lives of Furniture I: The Rocking Chair

They dragged me back from the
Bowl and Board on Mass Avenue;
they could not have parked
within three blocks anyway,
the same distance to their
small apartment on Harvard St.
I started rocking immediately,
the mother desperately trying to
calm a fussy infant, me getting
covered in projectile vomit, and
the baby happily watching the world
go back and forth, up and down,
eyes wide open, enjoying the ride.
Those were my days and nights,
for the first one, then the second.
kids gone, I rock the mother,
her eyes drooping as she falls
to sleep, and finally, for the
rabbit, who hides under the
slightly frayed rope seat when
the late afternoon sun
warms that particular spot
and I can smell her warm
rabbit smell and doze off,

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