Momma’s Rocker

[Landscape view is recommended on a mobile device]

You are bright green,
like an unripe avocado.
So sunny and bright,
you light up the room.

Your entire body is square from top to bottom.
Square from side to side;
square from front to back.

Your arms are wide and flat;
able to hold several small children
as mother rests in the middle of the rocker.

Your fabric is a bit scratchy;
small loops of nylon woven with a random pattern.
Perhaps it is paisley.

The seat cushion has held on as long as it can.
Like the mother who has rocked many babes;
it has the permanent shape of use.

Click. Click. Click. A soft melodic rhythm.
With each click, the sleepy child blinks.
Slowly, her eyes grow weary; barely open.

Click. Click. Now they are closed for the night.
Momma gently hugs her babe a bit tighter,
then kisses the top of her head.

Click. Click. Click. The lullaby continues.
The rhythm slows. Click. Click. Silence.

Momma rests her eyes too.

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