Armchair

8.20.06

By the window it sits,

the worn old stuffed settee

upholstered by years of use.

Its arms are soft,

the seat ample, welcoming;

the fabric skirt draping to

the floor like a curtsy.

It has nursed newborns,

transported weary men around the world

on newspaper airplanes,

buffeted a child

through afternoons of boredom,

lent a cat its seventh life.

This fully lived chair

knows secrets held

and tears unshed,

has witnessed the comings

and goings of generations.

It has sensed death

and celebrated weddings,

held forth in debate

and dictated a rooms decor.

Mended, re-sprung, newly tufted

it has not wanted for attention.

But now and then

on a late night,

when the room is dark

with only the fireplace cricket

to keep it company,

this chair, this keeper of the hearth

listens

hoping to hear the distant strain

of a flute.