This Chair

This chair knows how old I am And how old I have become Sitting beneath the window sill That provides a slotted view Of what will be this season This chair creaks Like knuckles, cracked Its wood once not as dry And long ago stood sturdier Much the same as I This chair lived in my every home High on a Hamptons hill And buried in basement boredom Cushioned and cushioned To match the melding years The changing interiors That took me from there to here This chair like that of Goldilocks Fits me just fine After all I have been perched Sitting, a sentinal gargoyle Near a door that leads to come what may For much more time Than I thought I had time for