A Swing Around the Rosey: Pockets full, but the Chairs are Empty.

Moved to the small town my grandparents grew up, I'm a stranger, but things are picking up.

A funny feeling hones inside my chest,

Pump, pump, pumping blood from my breast,

Down to my toes, circulating oxygen to breathe-

And still something funny wants release. 

Everything I could ever need is right at my side,

Time to be myself, no face to hide.

I go to the antique store, and enjoy a cup of coffee,

The older ladies gossip, twisted stories find me.

Sipping, I sit, drawing “At the Table Alone”,

The hens casting an eye at what I’ve done.

I visited the arena just a minute prior,

And the owner he too, questioned my desire-

“What do you do?” I answer with a smile-

“I’m an artist this very moment, took me awhile.”

And still, while drawing away the strings of own-

I feel a palpable emptiness begin to drone.

No one knows who I am, even father has plans.

On my lonesome searching to find sacred hands.

I crave a friend or two, as I now walk on this path-

But the hens all just chatter and laugh. 

Speaking about the latest news, I’ll be their muse�"

A chattel, they chuckle with friends to amuse,

I’m not just an antidote, and yet I play along.

Is there someone here that can whistle my song?

While out to learn the town’s funny ways,

Memories of old play to my grandmother’s days-

Friday evenings a table of fourteen ate weekly,

Afternoons with the antiques, until grandpa fell peaky. 

I feel I’m chasing around her ghost,

Tell me Alice, where should I host?

Where do you reside, how can I find my pride?

Is the answer with the local provost?

Are you at my side? What’s here to hide? 

Back on the family crest, I stare up at the plaque,

It’s here for me, she left me a clue to unpack.

Author's Note

Howdy, been a minute. I hope to get into more of a routine once I'm settled from my move, and I have an art display going up in two days that's taking my mind. I also write a lot manually, trying to find balance between the computer and my typewriter.

Reviews

[DIVYA]

I loved the small town feeling you created here. The hens, especially. They could be good friends. I loved that you mentioned Grandmother's days. It must be so nostalgic, little things that remind you of those days. In a way, I w as reminded of my Grandma days too. Perhaps, small towns are alike, across the world. I enjoyed this poem a lot.

Wishing you the best for your art display.

[Grumpie]

Thank you (art display went well!) I enjoyed your comment, sending you the best of luck on your own creative endeavors!

[Neha agrawal]

This reads like a warm cup of longing—funny, tender. I felt the pulse of your loneliness and the charm of your wandering heart. Beautifully done.

[Grumpie]

Much appreciated, you have a very eloquent style, it shows even in the comments!