Right from the onset, one could assume I was
born into earth because of my grandfather’s chair,
our bond—connected as bedbugs are to blood.
When it rests, I rest. It pulls over,
I do the same. Always on my toes to sight
a glimpse of it dance.
Merging my feet with its on the dance floor to second
a salsa—or sometimes a candle dinner legwork.
A young feet always on schedule with its watch—
That time my grandfather would rest his old
back against its wall to face God— I could
only see the dream of the calmness, sitting on
Its thick wooden stripes. A rocking chair archaic
In language yet, sophisticated to my sight.
Its back and forth pace from its curved busy feet;
Old creaky noises like that of the doors in haunted
Houses. Of its liveliness & of its finesse—
Old patches on its arms that tasted my grandpa’s
Medicines—And its moves, tipsy of his liquor.
It sleeps, too, as it rains past its aged scars.
Snoring to the wind as it breezes wild.
A rocker always rocking nights away;
It rocks in this one that dreams home again.
Aishah Ahmad Imam
is a Nigerian writer and a second-year student of Linguistics at the University of Ilorin, Ilorin, Nigeria. She is the second runner up of the University of Ilorin 2022 SU writers’ competition (Poetry Category). Her works appear/forthcoming on That Black Boy Review and The Kalahari Review. Twitter @ AhmadAishahh. Instagram @ ayeeshah_ahmad.