The Rocking Chair

From time-to-time, throughout the day,
I sit in my comfy chair;
Just yesterday, as I was reading -
I put down my book to stare.

My chair rocked easily as I sat
and I suddenly became aware -
I revisited the past and my Grandma,
who sat in a similar chair.

I remember that chair was never still -
it rocked silently all the time;
She didn't talk much but I liked to spend time
with the grandma I called mine.

Even when I was very small,
my Grandma seemed very old;
A different time, a different place,
the generations told.

I thought that was what old ladies did -
rocked in their rocking chairs!
At the time, she was much younger than I am now;
I felt my hand touch my hair.

Memories of Grandma flooded my mind
and I started to rock once more;
Perhaps this is why I love a rocker -
I picked up my book and read more.

© Joan Adams Burchell
March 20, 2005

Miscellaneous Poetry