Yesterday I was a chair –
a soft place to nestle with a book.
Today, I’m a table, spread with food.
Sit, eat. This is a generous house.
I was a bed, for months,
baby head heavy on my shoulder,
and most days I’m a bookcase,
carrying a rich burden of words.
I’m a cupboard. Open me.
See, all that shiny viscera,
and cups and saucers,
and my beating heart
and I’m the TV in the corner
of the room, with sound turned down,
and I’m a deck-chair,
leaning back among the roses.
This just tumbled out as my response to Qbit’s comment on my last post. It’s a bit ragged at the edges, but I thought I’d seize the moment.