The rocking chair, is sitting there, alone
Amid the darkness. How long has it been
Since it last swayed gently? It has been prone
And waiting patiently in the den.
One wonders what moves in this silent space.
Whether critters skitter in this glib gloom;
Whether Time grew chill here and could not chase
The tune it had pursued from room to room.
One wonders because one has time to think.
One has time to think when one has been dead
As long as I. Listen, and drink the night
Dry like the wine on the day I was wed.
We fashioned this house into our family’s home
And, all through the years, we stood side-by-side
But, now, my spirit has no hearth to roam
Because of that woman and her arachnid lies.
It was here she took me, when time had had
its toll – on our dreams, our love, our marriage.
But there was no love lost when she stabbed
Me while I dozed in my father’s carriage.
This curved wood had been carved by his olive hands.
He made it for Sam when he was just born,
To help lull him to sleep. That man understands
The need for precious things to be well-worn.
And, from our firstborn to our granddaughter,
This chair has borne babes and mothers, laughter,
Yet here I lay, the victim of vile slaughter.
If only I knew what you were after.
But, I will never know. For I have thought
On it long and hard. And my mind has turned
To other things. After I died, wild rot
Raked my skin back. It was then that I learned
That the mind lives on after death. What rage,
What horror, and I had no mouth to scream.
Each wall a misty mirror, ghostly cage,
And I, its prisoner – stuck in a dream.
And when my skull fell and I bit the dust,
I knew that no one would ever find me.
I will disintegrate like red rust
From this world and eternal memory.
My only wish is to feel that chair rock
like it used to so I can let this life go.
That pendulum is the key to my lock
So, please, sit, and rock, knowing what you know.