stacked

not ready for packing
or sale
grandma’s stuff
piled on a curb

i still see her
in that one chair
smiles & laughter
under a hat of curled
blue-gray hair
her chair
the one that sat next to the piano
no one ever played
her chair
no one ever dare sit in
it had an aroma
of moth balls
never understood why
so did her flowerbeds
kept the rabbits away
she said

her chair
was in the side room
that flooded with light
early in the morn
and at twilight
she’d sit with an evening drink
in company by a neighbor or 2

her chair
where she would read
to the grands
wonderful tales
mostly make-believe
yet some so real
and sadly
one might catch
a tear from her eye
she’d sigh
my darling dears
just a piece of fairy dust
left here

her chair
where she sung lullabies
& rock
the babes to sleep
late at night
you could hear
the rocker creaking
for granny never slept
a quick catnap
she always had something
else to do
knitting
reading
writing notes
to friends
while sipping
a tea of her favorite blend

her chair
where she spent her last days
feeble & frail
yet always had
that special
twinkle in her eyes

where……………
where will that chair go now

hand carved
a brocade cushion
a little worn
but not worse for wear

no
it is not for sale

it’s grandma’s chair

photo by Ellen Martin