There is a lonely chair here.
Sitting in the corner.
Observing the simple pleasures.
The light that shines through window.
Now fallen upon her.
She is a her.
She is a grandmother chair.
Soaking in the warmth.
She is frayed and slightly beaten.
Thumb tack pins that still hold her together and I wonder what pins shall be holding this skin together in the years to come.
When the sun has faded my face.
When I am worn and beaten and bruised.
Will I sit lonely in a corner.
Yet still. Yet silent. Yet observing the soft pleasures of the day.
The pigeons that coo and fly and rustle their wings outside.
Too often I am like them.
Too much flight.
Not enough stillness.
Not enough like this grandmother.
Wooden legs held to carpet.
Thread come loose.
Old and decayed. Yet so content.
That was has been has always been.
That what shall come shall not be a bother.
This chair is, holds herself.
Like she always has.
Like I wish that I could.
October 3 2019
Award winning Australian writer and performance poet Joel Mckerrow wrote '...a grandmother chair' during a poetry workshop 'The Foreboding Emptiness of an Empty Page' at NEA on October 3, 2019. Created during the workshop to show others 'how to push past creative blocks and begin to create with a renewed sense of freedom'., it is wonderful example of the creative process meeting self-reflection and in its confluence coming beautiful artistry.
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