Grandfather’s Chair

Old, old chair

Mustard yellow cowhide,

Sturdy and broad,

Arm rests worn burgundy

Where strong arms and hands

Once rested.

Cracked leather seat cushion and

Gold metal tacks to frame the leather,

Four strong, lion-clawed legs

To hold up its massive frame.

 

Old, old chair

Smelling of leather

Conjuring up faint whiffs of

Life Boy soap, Listerine

And Old Spice After Shave.

Warm, comfortable, and

Large enough to hold

A grandpa and his grandchild.

 

Old, old chair

A place to watch t.v. or read the paper.

Snuggling in to listen to 45 records

Spinning out coal-mining songs

“I owe my soul to the company store…”

Or simple love songs –

“I give to you and you give to me,

True love, true love…”

 

Sometimes a lively polka

And then the chair would sit empty.

Grandpa would whirl/twirl us

Round and round and round

While we balanced on his stocking feet,

Laughing and throwing our heads back…

We didn’t own a care in the world.

 

Old, old chair

A place to catch your breath

After the dancing’s done.

A place to sink down into comfort

Or nestle in a familiar lap.

Seat cushion now cracked and split

Spilling stuffing outward

Great creases running like lifelines

Streaks of summer lightning.

 

 

2 thoughts on “Grandfather’s Chair

  1. I don’t know if it was conscious or not but I can see some great and strong metaphors. It is not only an old chair holding only precious memories, it is organic and alive. Sometime, metaphors can be enough in the poetic world.

    Like

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