Nola Perez Poet Ballade

In My Living Room

There, There! Good Children!
I say to the furniture gracing my space, 
semi-circling the weary gray eye 
of the television, as if it were the center
of the world.  It's tired, but YOU are 
to rest upon. Support for  the watchers 
in my diminishing world: a Bentwood rocker, 
(made of bent wood?) Circle upon 
concentric circle positioned for prettiness 
and posture.  Each piece, here, are 
rescues: "New to You, Purple Dove, Paws-
ability."   Found treasure, saved from
destruction like the sad-eyed pups behind
cages in the animal shelter.  Desperate
for someone's arms.  Cushy couch,
you are the arms around us, your five
fat pillows, each one retrieved from the un-
wanted shelf to form and reform a family, 
reclaiming their purpose to make a
connection.  Reveling in the compassionate
company of an old piano bench, its lid
upholstered in black velvet, beneath which
sheets of music were stored, and beside
a scalloped-edge table shaped like a fragile 
shell one might find on a beach. Saved 
from a languish in a Paris flea market, it
lifts a lamp, its base a life-sized rabbit
like he who dined on flowers in my front-
porch garden when love was alive,
his shade a black-death mushroom, lined
inside in gold, showering sheltering light
just enough and not to much to make us
edgy, unlike the nightly less-than benign
news from the black, black box.

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