As I rock gently back

As I rock gently back and forth

in the heat of the afternoon,

I am suddenly aware 

of the comfort of a rocking chair.

I am transported back in time,

to a time not long ago,

and find myself in another rocking chair,

Granny's old glider.

It sat in the den, 

with the matching footstool,

the combination of light, honey colored wood

and forest green cushions adding 

warmth. A coziness,

which after her death was tainted

with the sadness of loss.

I see that chair, that beautiful

reminder of one so important,

so loving and gentle and kind,

moved to my daddy's house,

my house, where it became a permanent fixture.

Permanent, that is, until the sickness came

which left my dad damaged, not physically,

but mentally,

and the chair had to be moved.

I had to be moved. Separated

from another figure who was so dear to me.

I see the chair now, sitting

where my daddy now lives

alone.

I don't see it often, but

it warms my heart to see him, rocking

in that chair that belonged to the one who gave him life 

and I know that it comforts him, as it comforts me,

even though we are still tainted, 

tinged with a deep sadness,

and would gladly reverse the damage that was done

with just one stroke.