It was many years ago
that I fell in love with my recliner.


And the love deepens
as I grow older.


During the day
when I am in other places
where chairs and sofas
of various sorts are available
I often seek comfort in them.


But there is no comfort
that resembles that which I receive
in Apartment 1111, in the corner
next to the bay window.


Whenever I count blessings
(which I do now more than I did)
my recliner is always
up there on the top of the list –
alongside the people I love.


I try to imagine what Jesus might have had
that would be comparable to my recliner.


I tire of imagining him on the cross.


And surely after its awful aftermath
God gave Him something like a recliner
where he could ponder the meaning of life
the way I do.

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