rocking chair

[Cheryl12]

The Hidden Treasure

Yeah, it’s me,
over here in the corner
under Grandma’s afghan,
your first purchase of new furniture
many years ago,
your oaken rocking chair.
Alone on the second floor
of the furniture store,
remember how you dithered about,
comparing wood grain patterns,
simplicity of design,
comfort?
Oh, yeah,
like settling into
an old sweet memory,
I was.
But the price...
Did you want me?
Did you need me?
You returned several times
to the second floor
of the furniture store before
you developed backbone enough
to make the leap –
your first purchase of new furniture.
And you took me home
to the brick apartment building
where the pine tree eventually
outgrew the view
from the third floor living room.
And then you took me home
to the marriage and
one, two, three ranch style homes,
all with well-established trees.
And now, decades later,
here we sit;
both creak a bit.
And you rest into scratches
from your daddy’s suspenders.  

[Gyppo]

Cheryl,

As someone who is particularly susceptible to memories triggered by ancient family artefacts I particularly liked this one.  My sister has a child's rocking chair which our Mum used to play in when she was tiny, and it wasn't new then.  Victorian at least.

If that chair could talk...

Yours, of course, did.  Because you listened to it.

I've met secondhand stuff which seems to push itself forward in a shop trying to catch your attention, like a big-eyed puppy in a rescue centre.  Tired old mechanical things seem to have a particular allure for me.

Gyppo

[DocCon]

The ordinary treasures, far from ordinary. Loved the memory palace in miniture of this beautiful well composed poem.

[ajduclos]

Cheryl - simply wonderful, so well written and laid out, exquisite... memories... you have captured the essence of artifacts - as Deb has written, memory evoking objects are "diamonds".  Beautiful bit of writing.
Aj    

[Lecram06]

The Hidden Treasure

Yeah, it’s me,
over here in the corner
under Grandma’s afghan,
your first purchase of new furniture
many years ago,
your oaken rocking chair.
Alone on the second floor
of the furniture store,
remember how you dithered about,
comparing wood grain patterns,
simplicity of design,
comfort?
Oh, yeah,
like settling into
an old sweet memory,
I was.
But the price...
Did you want me?
Did you need me?
You returned several times
to the second floor
of the furniture store before
you developed backbone enough
to make the leap –
your first purchase of new furniture.
And you took me home
to the brick apartment building
where the pine tree eventually
outgrew the view
from the third floor living room.
And then you took me home
to the marriage and
one, two, three ranch style homes,
all with well-established trees.
And now, decades later,
here we sit;
both creak a bit.
And you rest into scratches
from your daddy’s suspenders.   

Cheryl,

The tenderness in this poem fills the air. I am in awe. Marcel
 

[indar]

I like this device of giving voice to an inanimate object. I particularly respond to this poem as I have somehow become the curator of the old family photo albums, the kerosene  lamp off great grandma's farm, grandma's tea table and so forth. I seem to be the only sentimental member of my family. Such things actually get beyond sentimentality however to symbols of the story of a group of people: their fables, foibles failures and triumphs. I get a sense of "we're all in it together".