Pigtails frame
the television screen;
Strands of curly
brown hair escape their ties
And brush and
tickle the tip of my nose.
Squirmy legs
sprawl across my lap –
Little feet kick
me in the face.
No longer a
person of dignity,
My academic
credentials mean nothing,
Nor does success
or failure in my career.
Now I have only
one purpose in my life:
I am furniture.
I am a resting
place for small legs and arms;
I am a chair on
which sparkling brown eyes watch TV.
All furniture – beds,
bookcases, chairs, sofas –
Has limited
life.
Cushions flatten
and upholstery fades.
Backs and
bottoms need new, ergonomic seats;
The old ones are
cast off,
In dumps and in
consignment auctions.
So will my term
as a sitting piece end.
You will vacate
my lap someday, whether soon or late.
Your foster
placement with us will end,
Or you will grow
older,
Not needing a
lap to protect you
From whatever
coldness the couch contains.
Until that time,
I watch your pigtails bounce;
I protect my
face as I can from your kicks.
I love you while
you are with me,
And I gladly
sacrifice my dignity,
My professional
esteem, my degrees and accomplishments
For that highest
and most valued calling:
Furniture for a
four-year-old girl.
