Blank Stare From A Rocking Chair

A breeze did slide in under eaves and stirred inside the air that grieves, my children grown my dreams have flown, alone I sit my rocking throne. My chair in front of window bare, I look… but husband’s soul elsewhere. Beneath my feet the floorboards moan, alone I sit my rocking throne. Each day I rock the same tic tock and change not from my sleeping frock. Once soft my face now turned a crone, alone I sit my rocking throne. The length of cobwebs measure time they speak no secret sing no rhyme, but air that’s stirred does tend to drone… alone, I sit my rocking throne. I pray to rock myself to sleep as old-age-chains do rust with weep. These tears from seeds of sorrows sown, alone I sit my rocking throne. The run of beads and crucifix will not unfix life’s mix of tricks. A rosary my rope and stone, alone... I sit my rocking throne. Of God I beg relief from grief, unbind my mind from mortal sheaf. This plea endures like sun bleached bone— alone I sit my rocking throne.