Old Chair

The physical body lies in ruins, and my torn flesh comes to rest here in this old chair.  Exhausted.  Here where I nursed and rocked the children. Here where we played "This Little Piggy" wrapped in towels after baths and smelling of everything on earth that is good. Here where we read and talked and melted together.  Here where we held hands and sat in a kind of holy silence.  Here, the comforting place after a spanking. Here where I  kissed their heads, and here where I sang them to sleep before lifting them off to bed.  Here where I have read thousands of pages of His Words, and right here where I became open to His rescue.  Here, tonight, just too tired even to sleep.  And here...writing a tribute to the good stuff.  The real stuff.  And the physical witness that is losing its stuffing.

This Old Chair,

Bernadette