This chair knows how old I am
And how old I have become
Sitting beneath the window sill
That provides a slotted view
Of what will be this season
This chair creaks
Like knuckles, cracked
Its wood once not as dry
And long ago stood sturdier
Much the same as I
This chair lived in my every home
High on a Hamptons hill
And buried in basement boredom
Cushioned and cushioned
To match the melding years
The changing interiors
That took me from there to here
This chair like that of Goldilocks
Fits me just fine
After all I have been perched
Sitting, a sentinal gargoyle
Near a door that leads to come what may
For much more time
Than I thought I had time for
Susan Lacovara
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-chair/
