Move slow and you can hear my bones creak
I am that old wooden rocking chair in your grandparents home that you used to go to every Sunday,

And every Sunday you used to set the table even though you never liked it much,
Five fragile dinner plates in your tiny palms spread across the placemats
Soon five turned to four and Sunday dinners were more quiet,
If you moved slowly enough you could hear your bones creak
When we didn’t talk you could hear the clock tick
The grandfather clock stopped ticking awhile ago but it’s a decoration now
You grew sad when you would count the plates and your thumb would slip down to the fifth one and slowly back up to the fourth,

Two chairs sat in the living room
only one being used,

The rest of us sat on the off white couch with flowers that had been sewn in, and the rough beige blanket that was laid across the top of the couch would scratch our necks if we laid back all the way,

That old wooden rocking chair pressing into the carpet imprinting it’s legs there forever, no one sits there anymore.

Four turned to three and quickly to two,
Two passed on and the other was removed

Four years go by and the house was sold, but the memories will never vanish