my roommate and i are fond of finding old furniture and calling it “mine”. she found this incredibly cool rocking chair at a garage sale i believe. it sat in a huge closet (the closet was big enough to make into a sitting room) for over a year. it got sat in occasionally, but it wasn’t seen by as many people as it should have been. and now, even though the beautiful chair fell off of her rocking hinges, we can’t seem to find the sense in getting rid of her. she’s still usable, but if you lean too far in any direction you will end up on the floor followed by her seat falling off of her feet right next to you. that’s why it’s actually perfect that we placed her where we did. having her snug in a hallway protects her from lean-age. i fall in love with this chair whenever i look at her. people just don’t seem to make stuff with as much character as they used to. there’s no way she was massed produced, selling thousands of clones all over the US. no. way. sure, there’s probably another one of her out there rocking around somewhere, but she’s the coolest, no doubt. she inspired me to write a poem.
Hallowed out walls leaving a runway cats couldn’t help but be thankful for ending with a door leading to no where
He was rescued from his hinges; he never liked to stay in one place for too long
He had constant mood swings, letting people in just to shut other people out
It was a privacy issue
But he didn’t mean to invade anyone’s space
He was only doing what the handy man told him to.
We set him up to stand on his own, so he could really make something for himself
A view down the hallway to the living room he’s never seen, but he’s stuck between the end of forever ending walls and a rocking chair that’s been rocked off her hinges.
That’s why they get along so well; they’ve both been restrained before and now, even with the ability to move freely, they sit side by side.
Her, in her pink exterior that makes me shout everything but “little girl”
She sits crooked from long years of holding other people up, no one ever asked her if she needed a back rub
No one ever thought to oil her bones so she could rock restless legged humans, reassuring them that the world isn’t as tough as they make it seem
Sometimes we have to sit down in order to realize how fast we’ve been going
She’s a perfect reminder to just take a seat
He leans calmly against the wall, tired from too many years of perfect posture.
Sometimes, backs crave a curved, slouched stretch
He doesn’t fear falling because she would never let that happen to him
Her cushion has supported boney butts enough to know how to catch something when it falls.
In another room her bright colors dim in the hopes of resting again next to him
The walls don’t hug her like the hallway does,
They don’t embrace her from behind like he does, wrapping his handle around her neck
They need to stay there, always
They go so perfectly together, creating the sensation that your body is too heavy for your feet
She wants everyone to relax
And I don’t know if you’ve ever done this, but sitting down at the end of a long hallway makes your eyes form telescope boundaries, zooming as far as they possibly can into the other room.