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unused_Blog

SPT 1/3

liz lamoreux

The photo in the photo: 1977 my grandpa sits in the green chair and I sit it my rocking chair next to him.

The green chair.
It has become a bit like the skin horse.
Bald in patches with seams showing.
But it links me to the past.
This was the chair where my father always read the paper and watched TV.
I spent hours on his lap in the green chair.
And when I came home from school, I would climb into that chair to watch Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street.
But when I heard the back door open, I knew it was time to jump because the green chair was no longer mine.
As my parents purchased newer, nicer furniture, the green chair began to move from room to room. They never got rid of it.
When I had my own apartment in college, the green chair became mine.
And it has moved to three towns with me.
I can't seem to let it go.
Though it is bald in places and showing seams, it reminds me of a time
when I felt the joy of being held by my father
when Mr. Rogers taught me that I was special
when I sang along with Bert and Ernie
when I wore pajamas with feet
when I wrapped up in blankets handmade by my mother
and all of this was enough to make me feel safe
Before I knew all that I know now.
But I realize that time did exist.
So I won't let them go.
Those moments are real.
Like the skin horse.

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