The Happy Place

On a bright day like this,

with the wind gently moving

the fronds of the roebelenii

in my unoccupied front porch,

the day forces reminiscence

from the locked part of my mind.

I sat in this very chair as I watched

my sister force a “goodbye”

out of her choked throat

and past the painful tears

that rolled down her lips,

as she left for her first day of school.

This old wooden rocking chair

was also the place I chose to be

when I observed my brother

scrape his elbow on his first

attempt at riding his new bicycle.

Laughter came before treatment

as he ran up the driveway

with horror in his eyes like the reaper

whispered in his ear when he fell.

There were also nights where I came

and rocked this chair with

doubt, frustration, and existentialism

creeping past my confidence

while I tried to find a place

that needed me like a baby needs love.

Now as I sit in this chair that gives

my memories a place to sit,

I find myself all alone,

but content with the life I lived.