Somber Memories and a Broken Chair
I hate you, chair.
Staring at me, sitting in the bleach of saturated sun.
You stay there, unphased.
Weathered by the passing of the rain,
and by the clutch of the dirt
wrapped around your heels.
I don’t envy you,
in your glory.
A menacing remembrance of what was.
Your faded yellow scratches at my bare thigh,
of what I couldn’t forget.
Of the forever fallen behind,
my mind will rest in your non-existent hands for a while.
Strain my frown to get a smile,
and we will dance in the wind of my imagination.
A place where we are frozen in place,
and moments and ghosts will pass us by.
I will remember your laugh.
Your face gone daft as you watched the sun come up -
my perfect buttercup,
and oh, how you loved that chair.