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