It’s good to rock.
I like to hear the chair
a chair I have sat in
for more than thirty years,
since my daughter’s birth.
A chair I spotted through
the window of a Pasadena
garage where my friend lived.
She finagled it for me
as a Christmas gift.
I painted it yellow
to match the nursery
a sheer fabric with
a cut-out design
of flowers stitched
in white.
Later I stripped it,
traces of yellow,
burrowed deep in
the grain,
took years to wear
Now the varnish
on the arms is
gummy, the way
things become
with time.
But I don’t want to
strip it again,
I can’t work
with chemicals
any more.
Back then I was
ambitious that way,
committed –
as young
women are
to their dreams.