Years ago, when I had loads of “me” time, I called myself a writer. From highschool through college I maintained a daily writing habit and even had a few pieces published. The last 6 years have taken away much of that free time to write. Though I wouldn’t have it any other way, a part of me still yearns to be part of the creative process of poetry and prose. My desire for the off season is that I might capture some time to call my own and take pen to paper in order to communicate the poetry I see in each day here in the Shenandoah Valley. In the spirit of that desire I share The Rocking Chair.
The Rocking Chair
So many times rested a worried mother’s
heart in your arms.
Your white coat, once fresh with a father’s
excitement for new life,
now worn and surrenderring,
softened by passing years
smooth and familiar under tired hands.
Do you miss the sweet breath of babies
as they sleep secured by your strong back;
Their little hands
pulling themselves up
into your lap
discovering new strength?
You are responsible for holding
a family in your arms; for rocking
generations to sleep; for providing
comfort and respite.
Now you sit on the front porch
rocking yourself in a gentle breeze
filled with an emptiness
none can see.
Photo courtesy of shelterness.com