MY CHAIR

When coming to a long day’s end
Those times of aching barren thought
My body motionless beyond
A twitch responding to a gnat
I look for comfort in My Chair

And when my mind devolves into
A sodden mass of unlit cells
Incapable of anything
But basic of all human needs
I find warm comfort in My Chair

My Chair most patiently awaits
It meets, absorbs all troubling times
Reducing fever, losing dread
Then on one day you look for me
My Chair might have absorbed me, too

Barbara Grace Lake

I grew up during the Great Depression and World War II, joined the WACs at age 18, later married, had 5 children, divorced, and worked in law offices for over 25 years, all the while writing a bit of poetry. I had a short but successful career writing articles for magazines and newspapers, but became tired of constantly trying to impress yet another editor. I've now gone back to my first love, poetry. And that, my friends, is mostly what you will find on my blog, "Poetry and Other Crimes." I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

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