her nonexistent rocking chair


i often go looking for rocking chairs
in shops of antique and vintage rares
i often go seeking for no ghosts in an afterlife affair
neither orbs floating here and there
i seek to sit in a rocking chair
in a time capsule capturing the smell of old air

and i glare
with eyes of children, the childlike wonder stare
rock between then and now, give the past a hail
for it where; a circle of stories get shared

and they dare
to call the stories blares

and i swear
i'll give diamonds and gold for what they call
an ancestory despair

"if anyone is desperate it is me" i declare
trying to imagine her in a sainted rocking chair
rather than one with wheels color of silverware
trying to remember a world
where she softly brushed my hair.

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