More often now

More often now

I see you sitting alone

In that chair, in the corner,

The tattered wool blanket carelessly thrown over the back,

The upholstery faded and torn

By a cat, once, it looks like, by the scars and rends.

 

I think we found it by the side of the road

You were worried about bedbugs I

Had never had an infestation, never knew to fear.

We wedged it into the car and drove home slowly,

The trunk flapping, the bungee cords having gone missing,

Again.

 

More often now

You sit in that chair you used to hate;

It represents of all my impulsivity,

my eclectic scatterbrained ways, you

Gather things methodically, research and compare them

Fret and change your mind over them,

Ask everyone what they think, first, you

Can’t stand the unpredictability of

Yard sales, antique stores,

my mother foisting furniture on us just when we are trying to leave

‘Why not take a table with you? A bookshelf? A rug? At least a chair?’

‘Yes,’ I say, and you- ‘No’. You never understand that ‘why not?’

Always think the question should be ‘why?’

 

More often now,

I see you sitting alone,

Watching the parallelograms of sunlight

Cross the floor, shifting unevenly on the ancient floorboards,

Shining with the polish you rubbed on them, carefully,

Fretting over every scratch and dig

‘Ancient damage,’ I say, and you point to a mark

And then to the chair I could never manage to pick up by myself

 

You’d helped me carry it into the house,

Up the flight of stairs,

Even though you thought it might give you bedbugs

Ruin your decorating scheme,

Take the place of a chair you’d wanted to buy for months

Representing everything you hate about me.

I see you sitting there,

More often now.

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