Rocking Chair, Prairie Style

With my father’s first paycheck, he bought a rocking chair.

The tree outside my window and my father are both balding.

I don’t know if it’s true. My father, a Jewish five’-ten’’, has a bald spot taller than I can see

unless he sits. He never sits. He leans on door frames and tables

but he doesn’t sit down unless it’s in his work chair. Even then, he lazy spins.

His ankles (not bald) fidget.

When my sister was a baby she said that he had brown and white fur on his chest

and then she pulled to make sure.

In Bulgaria they welcome spring with Martenitsi.

I spy, with my little eye, the first green shoot.

Claire Levin