You hardly notice it has gone - <br />from its cobwebby corner at the yoga studio <br />where it stood graciously <br />and humbly for ten years. <br /> <br />Baltic pine and always wobbly, <br />the old organ seat had been polished smooth <br />by bums of ages pumping out <br />the music of Bach and Handel. <br /> <br />I first made its acquaintance <br />during rehearsals for Macbeth <br />at the de-consecrated Catholic church <br />in Middle Park in the sixties. <br /> <br />It served well as Scottish throne <br />and a place to sit for 'notes'. <br />I even recall thumping it with eager fists: <br />'...but who would have thought the old man <br />to have so much blood in him! ' <br /> <br />After the church was demolished <br />the organ seat found its way <br />to our rambling cement rendered <br />house in Kangaroo Ground. <br /> <br />There it sat for years, covered with clothes <br />at the foot of the king sized bed <br />where we raised our three children <br />with love and silly voices. <br /> <br />I left it behind when I chose <br />a new fork in my emotional road, <br />but gladly embraced it again <br />when the old house was sold. <br /> <br />I wonder why they broke in - <br />these strangers who invaded my space? <br />I wonder what they were thinking <br />as they jemmied open the studio door <br />and took it away?<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-organ-seat/
