Seriously, the rocking chair is magic.

the rocking chair
on my back porch
a spindly, weather bleached thing, with a most uncomfortable seat back,
an old, blue cushion from a long forgotten couch on the seat.
it creaks.
this ugly old chair that I love,
it manipulates time.
I sat through eternity and a summer, just now.
and I thoughtlessly labeled the first breeze "cold" when it brushed past me.
and then,
"feel," no one told me.
but I did.
and I felt the molecules of my body vibrate,
and I felt the orbits of the world at the nape of my neck,
and I felt the wind puff past, lifting lightly,
gently,
so gently,
a fine mist of my cells.
and it was summer.
and the molecules pulsed,
slid,
towards the sun.
and I felt the colors that summer travels with,
as they flowed through my cheekbones,
and down,
into my body,
lending their warmth.
and it was dark,
and I was in the rocking chair,
blinded by the loss of summer.