The Small Rocking Chair
“A hundred years,” she said, “would
be the age of the small rocker”
brought in and sat by the fire. The oaks grain, like lines
in an aged face,
along with narrowly sketched scrolls, tells a story of grace not
A place for sitting? Perhaps for a child,
but rather two sisters side by
side near a fireplace to warm the shawls in an old farmhouse in a
when one could wait while the embers shared their warmth during the
winter flaws and tired eyes could study the glow from the stag horn
With life discrete, care was applied to such pieces
as this and
craftsmanship would appear as the oak was hewn and the labor did
a form to complete.
She wonders as she rubs with special care and places
a cushion to cover
the woven seat there. Will the quiet spirit that dwelled in the past
in the heart where it was held, find in the present that all is still
From “A View From Sheepranch Hollow”
MOMMA’ S CHAIR
I wonder who built that rocking chair,
made it soft and set it there,
so Momma could rock the baby.
I wonder who made the rockers strong,
I wonder who made the back so tall
nice and curved and extra long,
so little boys could ride.
to keep out creepy spiders small,
to guard his little girls,
AN OLD LADY’S SECRET
She was sitting with her back towards me
In her old rocking chair,
As she slowly rocked back and forth
Seemingly without a worry or care.
And then I hear her quietly sing songs,
Songs that she probably sang every day,
Some that I remember with love,
In a special sort of way.
For she sang about Barbara Allen
And Amazing Grace wasn’t too bad,
But when she ended, “Loves Sweet Song,”
I thought, “She’s probably lonely and sad.”
But this thought ended abruptly
When she lit up her corncob pipe,
And chuckled as the smoke reached the ceiling
Oh, it was a comforting sight.
For this city girl secretly viewed
Just how an old lady made her life serene
By singing and rocking and smoking
And ignoring the modern scene.
From “Poems and Other Writings”