25F1CC7E-BDB3-4A14-8394-333F52D2185C (2)
  • a. martins

rocking chair

poem.


we are old now

the caramel wooden plates

on the floor ahead only seem

to confirm

windows tilted, but not open

whence a chilling breeze blows

through dusty striped blue pijamas

curtains left unwashed, no time for

we are old now

down the long hallway filled with voices

sunlight filters in like kisses

on cold December mornings

goodbye kisses—

hope we see each other again kisses

faint, knowing we won’t but warm

from wishing one more day when it comes true

the walls are beaten off-white,

prickling lead paint that no one bothered

changing

we are old now

and only sunlight, breeze

and hooded men come to visit us here

from our rocking chairs,

we become perfect witnesses to time—

stagnant;

at mercy, no better than pijama curtains

or unwaxed oaken wooden boards

not yet forgotten, but made invisible

like memorabilia: someone old,

someone harrowed,

someone blue

we are old now

our rocking chairs are our bodies

on caramel wood unwaxed we dance

just as we did in golden balls and life

where we stripped down our striped underwear

and wore down the walls with warmth,

we used to live once, before now anyway

and now we linger on for time to come

and close the windows someone left half-open

we are old now

and being cold

just seems to make it all

worse.