The Rocker Poem by Juan Olivarez

There is a corner of my house,
Where only shadows play.
A little corner of my house,
That shuns the light of day.

And in that corner, in the dark,
A rocking chair does stand,
And rocks so gently at night,
Propelled by ghostly hands.

This was my mother's little niche,
It's where she spent her days,
Where sewing needles used to stitch,
And all my fears allayed.

Sometimes at night I sit and smile,
At the rocking of the chair,
And though my mind is not a child's,
I know that she is there.

A gentle breath does emanate,
From out that darkened room,
And I believe that now of late,
I see a light inside the gloom.

9/30/2000 Alton Texas