Rocking Chair Song

In the living room, this late in my life,

sits an old rocking chair, spindly, just gathering dust

and age in the corner’s shadowy space of time.

It’s mostly unused now, no baby to rock to sleep,

no children or grandchildren, none to hold, blanket-

wrapped, in the early morning’s chill settling around us,

the floor creaking under its curved wooden rockers,

back and forth, and back again, wood on wood caressing,

playing its rocking chair song, rhythmic and steady,

an ancient lullaby to sing us back to sleep;

and rocking, your breath, shallow and soft,

matches mine, deep and labored, rhythmic, too,

our own harmony in this rocking chair’s music

played back and forth, and back again, wood on wood.

Late in my life, in the living room,

sits an old rocking chair, spindly and unused,

its song unsung in the corner’s shadowy space of time.