Challenging Poetry

the nursery chair

I am the strong back,
the smooth wood,
the sturdy arm to support
a parent’s elbow
beneath a tiny head.

I am part of the contract
a parent makes
with a screaming child—
sleep, I promise,
with all my wooden heart,
the world full of the creak
of my cradle song,
close your eyes and dream,
know I am waking,
on guard.
my uneven rhythm drives
all shadows away,
and you are safe. I promise.

sleep, child.
the world will be here
when you wake.

and someday, you will climb
up my rungs on tiny feet,
and grab my spindles
with five month hands
and rock me—the air will fill
with the duet of your laughter
and my creaking—
so steady.
so friendly.
so sleep.

line count: 31

Author's Note ▼

It's a rocking chair, if you can't tell. I actually wrote this with two pictures from my babyhood in mind. One: Daddy on rocking chair with eyes closed, obviously asleep, holding screaming baby Rhyssa (at about three months). Two: Five month old baby Rhyssa, big smile, standing on a rocking chair, obviously rocking it at breakneck speed, both hands holding the spindles of the back. I climbed early.
Dad has always said that when you rock a baby to sleep, it's a contract. The rocker is promising the baby that it's safe to sleep, that he or she will be protected through the night. So that is part of this too.
But the chair is a big part of this.