Monday, December 2, 2013

Past Imperfect (Poem 244)

Outside, the sun, a clear winter 
day; inside the sofa sinks 
and swells, an old friend's
warm embrace, a deep well
of comfort and strength.
Someone else chose it and
treated it gently, as if knowing
it would someday be mine. 
Like the wind-chimes that thrill 
to the wind in my yard, 
and my favorite chair--
where I knit, write, and dream,
and brush kitty's luxurious hair--
the few things I own don't just 
fill up my home. I delight
in the items I choose, and 
the histories of those 
that have been loved and used. 
As my grandmother said 
way back when: Everything 
old becomes new again. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six