Chairs

The Chair

I’m writing to you, who made the archaic wooden chair

look like a throne while you sat on it.

Amidst your absence, I choose to sit on the floor,

which is dusty as a dry Kansas day.

I am stoic as a statue of Buddha,

not wanting to bother the old wooden chair,

which has been silent now for months.

In this sunlit moment I think of you.

I can still picture you sitting there--

your forehead wrinkled like an un-ironed shirt,

the light splashed on your face,

like holy water from St. Joseph’s.

The chair, with rounded curves

like that of a full-figured woman,

seems as mellow as a monk in prayer.

The breeze blows from beyond the curtains,

as if your spirit has come back to rest.

Now a cloud passes overhead,

and I hush, waiting to hear what rests

so heavily on the chair’s lumbering mind.

Do not interrupt, even if the wind offers to carry

your raspy voice like a wispy cloud.

― Jarod Kintz -

A Letter to Andre Breton, Originally Composed on a Leaf of Lettuce With an Ink-dipped Carrot

"Vacant" is the word of this week at Our Beautiful World.

I think, that fits well with it.

Shared with image-in-ing, Our World Tuesday, Wednesday around the World