A
Corner of Home
In the captain's chair
from some yard sale,
at the green enamel table,
from a Sear's catalog 60 years ago,
I sit reading and sipping tea
at the window.
Through the window
the range of life passes.
People are walking,
dawdling to a school bus,
pushing baby carriages;
quahoggers with rakes and buckets
heading to the pond.
The feeder brings birds
along with unsatisfied squirrels;
and now and then
a rabbit or skunk or coyote
or feral cat.
But a different comfort
is sought;
going out,
joining the world.
The chair is comfort;
leaving it is easier,
knowing it's there
to come back to.
In the captain's chair
from some yard sale,
at the green enamel table,
from a Sear's catalog 60 years ago,
I sit reading and sipping tea
at the window.
Through the window
the range of life passes.
People are walking,
dawdling to a school bus,
pushing baby carriages;
quahoggers with rakes and buckets
heading to the pond.
The feeder brings birds
along with unsatisfied squirrels;
and now and then
a rabbit or skunk or coyote
or feral cat.
But a different comfort
is sought;
going out,
joining the world.
The chair is comfort;
leaving it is easier,
knowing it's there
to come back to.
(this is an older work which I revised)
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