The Chair

It faces the window,
Beside the fireplace,
In front of the bed.
‘Red leatherette’ she insisted.
It was old;
Time Hollowed
To her shape.
Her shape had changed
Over the years
The chair had adjusted;
Forced obligation!
It was as synonymous
With her as the two
Walking sticks
That had gulled
Either side
Like the oars of a boat.
They stood now against
The side of the mantle piece
Beached in Valhalla!

The chair came from England,
“From a Lords’ house”,
She said.
“Famous people have
Sat here”, she claimed
The oars rowing
Frantically,
To the beat
Of a forgotten drum.
When he was killed
In the ‘Great War,’
It had been gifted
To her mother;
The only thing
Of value that
She had ever received!
Now it was mine!
An ugly piece
Of furniture,
Stuffed with wonderful
Memories;
Supportive in more
Ways than the
Craftsman had
Intended.