(No Title)

After years of disuse, misuse, abuse even,

covered in dust and boxes, books and stuff,

clothes laid across its seat, thrown there,

the rocking chair has been revived, the floor

creaking again under its curved rockers rocking

back and forth, back and forth, wood on wood

caressed, the rocking chair song, rhythmic

and steady, its ancient lullaby singing us to sleep,

the new little guy and me, his breath soft and shallow

and mine, deep and labored, back and forth and back

again, as it did for his mother, and hers, generations

of that song, that music, the magic of a rocking chair

rocking, a lullaby sung, singing us off to bed. 

** This is a follow-up poem to a poem published on this blog July 21, 2018, though written in March 2009, called Rocking Chair Song, linked here.