That Rockable Sweet

I was sittin’ in my grandmothers
convenience, her pink rocking chair
next to the kitchen entrance.
She’d hop off that thing
the milky second anyone needed
a toothpick. That chair faced the exact
center of the room.
She had eyes for everyone.
And would rise to greet always,
any approaching.
Even if it meant pulling a child off her lap
or tossing down her tea.
Never understood how it never spilled.

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