Chairs on a Hill
A poem by Deborah E Martin

Chairs on a Hill

Winding Vermont tree-lined roads 
Driving through a veil of rain
Beyond the curve of the road
A hill comes into view dotted with 

Orange, blue, yellow, white
Flowered, dotted, striped 
Arms, armless, tall, short,
Wooden, metal, cane 

Chairs on a grassy knoll
Who sat in those chairs?
Did Goldilocks search
For just the right one

This one will never do – dots too big
Stripes too narrow 
Feet won’t touch the ground
Feet touch the ground

The seat is too deep
The metal hurts my back
Here’s a blue one for cheerless days 
Yellow for a joyful day

Smooth wood 
Soft seat 
Arms just right 
Pillow cushioned back

A lady sits on the dots 
A man on the blue, a boy chooses stripes
The Baker , the editor, the grocer
The preacher, the mayor, the barber

Not an empty chair remains
A child stands at the base of the hill
And sings a song of tomorrow’s
Rainbows and moonbows 

About the Author:

Deborah E Martin is a retired probation officer and family history researcher who lives in Raymond, Alberta. She writes to remember and to be remembered, evidence that she was here, lived, breathed, loved and her presence mattered. 

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