You hardly notice it has gone -
from its cobwebby corner at the yoga studio
where it stood graciously
and humbly for ten years.
Baltic pine and always wobbly,
the old organ seat had been polished smooth
by bums of ages pumping out
the music of Bach and Handel.
I first made its acquaintance
during rehearsals for Macbeth
at the de-consecrated Catholic church
in Middle Park in the sixties.
It served well as Scottish throne
and a place to sit for 'notes'.
I even recall thumping it with eager fists:
'...but who would have thought the old man
to have so much blood in him! '
After the church was demolished
the organ seat found its way
to our rambling cement rendered
house in Kangaroo Ground.
There it sat for years, covered with clothes
at the foot of the king sized bed
where we raised our three children
with love and silly voices.
I left it behind when I chose
a new fork in my emotional road,
but gladly embraced it again
when the old house was sold.
I wonder why they broke in -
these strangers who invaded my space?
I wonder what they were thinking
as they jemmied open the studio door
and took it away?
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-organ-seat/
