Furniture

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.