Tale Of The White Adirondack Chairs Poem by Sonny Rainshine

My sister not long ago suggested
that we rent a car and make a visit
to the house where we grew up.

At first I liked the idea,
but as the time for departure drew closer,
I begin to feel a strange reluctance,
whenever the trip came up.

Something eerily white, like light,
something made of wood, yes,
chairs on a lawn, Adirondack chairs
painted white with tall glasses of iced tea
resting on the wide-open arms,
etched themselves in the populated
areas of my mind
and would not leave.

Then the cause of my consternation
revealed itself: I needed the chairs
who would not leave to stay.
If I went back to the magical lawns
and the familiar days of my childhood
and the Adirondak chairs were gone
(which after so many years they surely are) ,
the loss would be too much.

I had my sister (long accustomed to my fickle whims)
cancel the rental car.

So, somewhere in the tangle
of memories, as distorted and inaccurate as they may be,
my family still sits with our cool iced tea
laughing, oblivious of the future,
snatched from time like a photograph,
framed forever in my remembrance.