Chair, Formerly Red
Yesterday in the woods behind the shed
I found one of the metal chairs mother placed
for you — every 30 feet, wasn’t it? —
so you could get out and walk. Tucked
between white pine and some old farm
equipment rusting under an A-frame.
Small as a schoolchild’s; poritic, thorn-sprung.
Nibbled by a decade of freezes and thaws.
All things revert to form if left long enough,
you used to say. Relieved of the burden
of bearing your weight, the chair
has given up bits of itself to the wild —
red hue to rust, smooth finish
to stubble; less matter, now, than negative
space — a crude outline of a chair, linocut,
the details gouged out. But see
how the steel fibers stretch
to bridge the gaps, as skin closes
around a wound. Tentative.
Stripped. Still holding.
by Laura Ring
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qarrtsiluni 
Oh, this is absolutely wonderful. A terrific poem.
Thank you so much, Dale!
Enjoyed this so much. And a voice like a bell.
thanks
Thank you, Sarah!
Nice feel to that poem, how things are reluctant to let go. I also love your love of language and words as evidenced by some archived blogs of yours.
Urdu even. In the poem, can I presume that poritic is the same as porotic?
Thank you so much, Allen! Well, I had to look up porotic (which was no hardship, as I like words), and it seems to have some obscure medical meaning, while poritic is usually used to refer to rocks and coral. But who knows? I was hoping to evoke “pitted.” Thanks, also, for visiting my blog!
I take it back, Allan (and sorry for the misspell) –
poritic and porotic both seem to be used to mean “porous” (as in osteoporitic, and porotic bones). Probably more information than you needed.
Cheers!
Laura,
Lovely recollection, taking me to my grandfather’s final walks. When he looked at me, it was never sidelong or indirect. He never spoke about the weather, and never asked what time it was. He just heard the music that was important to him, and hoping, knowing, I was hearing it too; the lonely loon, the frog bloating, the sun hiss.
Tom
That’s lovely. Thanks, Tom.
Beautifully evocative. Specifics I can grasp and hold and make mine.
Thank you so much, Deb.
Wonderful – such an acute sense of the inorganic going back to nature.
Thank you, Dick!
Lovely to see this published, Laura. I remember you workshopping this at Wild.
Well done, and I really enjoyed hearing you read it.
best regards,
ljc
Thank you so much, LJ!