by Linda Zammit
I will always remember the rocking chair in my grandmother's kitchen,Second Place Winner
Its soft velvet cushion, warm against my bare legs,
With its colorful map of her homeland,
And its crimson tassels.
Everything about that chair reminds me
Of the many moments spent with her,
Of where she came from,
And of who she was to those who loved her.
Sitting, swaying, rocking.
Strawberry ice-cream spilled years ago.
Stains that linger in a memory now.
Hands being held,
The chair remains long after she is gone.
It sits in my kitchen now.
I fall asleep, its rocking motion cradling me,
As a mother does her infant.
Its smooth mahogany arms,
Cool against my cheek.
A green and white crocheted rug,
Aromas of times now passed.
She resides in the places I find warmth.
Time can be kind
For it allows us to find those we have lost.
I am woken by the telephone.
The rocking chair continues to sway
Moments after I have left.
A gentle dance between here and there.
Only time between us
Until I rest there again.